Doctor Who: Parallax - Shake It Out
by Montana
Summary: EPISODE III: A stopover in London to restock the pantry goes thoroughly to pot when Rose is forced to intervene in the life of a very familiar medical resident. Soon, Rose and The Doctor are separated, and she's fighting for her life alongside a close friend who hasn't met her, yet. Nine/Rose; AU/AR
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Here's Episode III! Thank you all for your patience! I hope you all understand that, given the parameters of this little tale, I can't just throw them together and be all "And they instantly realized their love for one another, she drank some magic unicorn blood to become immortal, and they lived happily ever after in their big, blue box." The journey is half the fun, right?! Right? I mean, it _can_ be fun…

As previously stated, I do not own the characters, themes, plots, settings, or alien technology from Doctor Who. I probably shouldn't even be allowed to use the same alphabet… So, from here on out, everything will be written in Sanskrit. Have fun!

* * *

Rose awoke gradually, stretching out under the down comforter on the camp bed that flexed and molded itself to her every move. The chittering, almost laugh-like calls of Kookaburras rang from far away. The air was chill, and she snuggled herself more deeply under the plush covers, hair spread across the pillow in sleep-pressed curls and waves. Off to her left, a streak of indigo was spreading across the horizon, and the subtle scent of dusty earth, still water, long grass, and eucalyptus drifting intermittently on the air. She looked up to see the false stars gradually fading as "dawn" approached inside her room. The TARDIS, she'd been reminded upon falling into her bed for the first time several days ago, was one hell of a ship.

Reluctantly, muscles aching in protest and skin breaking out in goose bumps, Rose threw off the covers and forced herself to sit up. She rubbed her hands roughly over her face and yawned, pushing herself to her feet. She staggered into the bathroom, turning on the light and terminating the charming ambiance. Her first night sleeping in her room, TARDIS had welcomed her with the scent of Acacia, the distant gurgle of the Limpopo River as it traversed through Kruger National Park, and the ever so familiar constellations of South Africa in April. She'd fallen dead asleep in the warm cradle of the camp bed. The next night, it had been the Amazon Basin in Ecuador. After that, it was the Catalonia region of Spain, complete with salty sea air.

It felt very much like the TARDIS was putting a great deal of effort into making her feel at home, and part of her wondered just how screwed up she'd become that she slept more peacefully on a camp bed surrounded by the sounds of wild animals than on the 3,000 quid mattress at her parents' house. Last night, the ship had lulled her to sleep with the eerily familiar sounds and smells of southeastern Australia, and Rose wondered if the TARDIS was pulling from Rose's own memory. All she knew for certain was that after years of aching for a better, clearer view of the stars beyond the light pollution endemic to nearly every corner of the Earth, the crisp, brilliant "night sky" in her room was breathtaking.

Rose turned on the faucet and quickly splashed water on her face. For lack of any appreciably better frame of reference, TARDIS had created the bathroom as a mirror image of the one she used in her parents' home. It was clean and bright with understated elegance, but hardly as inspiring as her bedchamber. To be fair, the only competing examples Rose's memory could immediately provide were the ladies room at Torchwood Tower, a dozen different sky harbor restrooms, and various shrubs. The last of these required a trowel; none of them provided a shower. Rose had no intention of showering just, yet, however. First, she required caffeine.

Slipping her bare feet into her unlaced Converse, Rose stumbled out her door and into the coral-framed corridor. She really needed to stop and pick up slippers on one of these trips. The grating in the hallways was hell on her feet and wearing her jim-jams with her sneakers just felt like something a crazy person would do. Her journey to the kitchen was completed largely on autopilot, and when she walked into the brightly-lit room, The Doctor was already sitting at the small round table with a cup in one hand, scribbling those indecipherable circles and lines on a notepad with his other. As she entered, he glanced up, smiling just a bit too brightly for that hour of the morning.

"Mornin'" he greeted, returning his attention to his work.

"Mmmph," Rose replied, making straight for the coffee pot. She took the stainless steel carafe out of the machine and immediately noted it was empty. She turned to The Doctor, but he wasn't paying her any attention. "Pardon," she said, and he looked up at her, somewhat distracted, "There's somethin' wrong with this picture."

"Oh," he said, suddenly focusing and looking sheepishly at the steaming mug in his hand, "Sorry, been up for awhile." Rose narrowed her eyes at him before turning to rinse out and fill the coffee pot. When she lifted the lid on the counter-top canister where the coffee was kept however, she noticed one lone bean rattling around the bottom. With a groan, she dumped the water out of the carafe.

"We're out of coffee," she announced with a little more acerbity than she intended.

"Sorry, been meanin' to get more."

"Out of tea, too." She declared after going through all the tea tins.

"Nonsense, there's –"

"Chamomille," Rose finished, "What good is chamomile?"

"Right…" The Doctor allowed, somewhat chastened. Rose looked around and eyed the coffee grinder for a long moment. When she found herself seriously contemplating opening the thing up and licking the grounds off the insides, she realized she may have chemical dependency issues. Not wanting to appear as desperate as she was, she moved to the refrigerator. Perhaps a good, hearty breakfast would clear some of her mental fog. When she opened the doors, however, her heart sank.

"A bulb of garlic, a nearly empty, wait, make that an empty jar of horseradish, a head of wilted lettuce, aaand a grape vine with _one_ grape left on it." Rose announced, shutting the door and turning to face The Doctor with her arms crossed. For his part, now turned around in his chair to face her, he had the good grace to look abashed.

"Uh, right, sorry. That little trick of mine, expelling the cyanide from my system, uses a lot of energy. Makes me a bit – peckish," he smiled by way of apology. Rose did not smile back. Being so very familiar with the desperate, driving energy this Doctor possessed after the Time War, and particularly after not having anyone to travel with all this time, she'd allowed him to take them, careening, from one crisis to another the last several days. The stop in the 1920s was meant to be a bit of a break – until they got tangled up in a murder mystery featuring none other than Agatha Christie herself and a giant space wasp.

During this little escapade, The Doctor had managed to get himself poisoned, and Rose had been in a bit of a panic until he assured her he could cure it. After chugging ginger beer, dousing himself in the same, eating handfuls of walnuts, and choking down a tin of anchovies, he'd demanded Rose give him a shock. Ever her mother's daughter, and working off past experience, Rose had wound back and slapped him like a recalcitrant mule. It had worked, and the look on his face had been priceless. Rose, though not regretting any measure taken to save his life, had felt a bit bad about it. Until now.

"There's nothin' left!" she exclaimed, "Not a drop of milk, not a single egg. Nothin!"

"There's the food machine," he offered, a bit defensively, but the look on her face told him that was, most definitely, not the correct answer.

"Where did it all go?!" she motioned, genuinely flabbergasted, at The Doctor, "Last I looked, there was still half a dozen eggs in there, not to mention the better part of a quart of milk, three sticks of butter, leftover greens, two full packages of bangers, and at least, _at least_ ten pounds worth of leftover roast."

"It all burned up," he defended, "Like I said, that whole process takes energy. Burns up my metabolism. I hardly even noticed I was doin' it… Three sticks of butter, really?"

"And a full quart of coleslaw," she nodded.

"Bit frightening, that," he mused. Rose shook her head and stepped away from the fridge. As she stormed out of the room, she nicked the coffee cup out of his hands.

"I'm takin' this," she announced, "and you're takin' us to a grocer." The Doctor watched, speechless, as she swaggered out in her striped flannel pajama pants and snug fitting white vest, sleep mussed hair swept back in her wake. The Doctor picked up his notes and headed for the control room.

* * *

Rose opened the TARDIS door to the familiar bustle of the streets of central London. It was mid morning, and reasonably sunny as London went. Her mood had improved marginally after half a cup of coffee and a shower, but as her stomach rumbled discontentedly, she still found herself unwilling to look at The Doctor with anything resembling a smile. For his part, he kept things strictly business, landing them in a discreet location near a popular market area. Rose had made a list of everything needed, from the freezer to the pantry, and given The Doctor his half.

"Oh is that all?" he'd commented when she handed him his list. Rose had merely raised her eyebrows, and he'd shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. Now, she was debating where to start as he locked the door behind them. She knew well The Doctor couldn't tolerate such a mundane chore for long, but she very much needed some time to herself. At least, as much to "herself" as she could be in a crowd of strangers. Really, she just needed some time away from the manic depressive alien she'd been traveling with nearly a week. Then, drifting on the breeze, she smelled the greasy, starchy aroma of a chippy, and her eyes rolled back just a bit, groaning under her breath. She was decided.

"Right," Rose announced, humor suddenly restored, "Meet back here by noon, yeah?" She didn't bother looking back as she walked away, too busy scanning the storefronts for a chip shop.

"Oi!" The Doctor called behind her, and Rose reluctantly turned around as he trotted up to her, "Here." He held his fisted hand out, and Rose just blinked at it a minute in confusion. Did he want to fist-bump her? Since when did The Doctor fist-bump? Who _was_ this Doctor? Then, shaking his head at her, he took her hand and dropped something into it from his closed hand. Looking down, Rose saw it was the TARDIS key, and her heart skipped a beat feeling its familiar warmth in her palm once more. "Just in case."

"Sorry," she smiled at him for the first time this morning, "Not quite awake, yet. See you at noon?"

"Noon," The Doctor smiled and nodded. Then, he turned and walked away, toward the butcher's, and Rose watched him a minute. As much as she kept expecting him to be different from her first Doctor in some appreciable manner, almost wished him to be, there were so many moments like this that struck her dumb. Little things; the way he moved, the subtle expressions on his face, the way he phrased things; those were unnerving enough, but the moments like this, like the one back in the hospital when he'd asked, oblivious to her shock, 'What's wrong with this jumper?', both thrilled and terrified her. Finally, she wrapped her fingers around the key, tucking it carefully into a zip up pocket in her cargo pants.

* * *

**Footnote:** With the understanding that, like the TV show, there will be adventures between the "episodes", I elected to utilize trips from the TV show that Rose didn't go on, simply so that you, my fine readers, don't feel too bereft. I don't like the notion of rewriting old episodes, even with new characters, but at least this way you all can imagine what happened in between episodes.

As for altering the manner of the "shock" needed to cure The Doctor's cyanide poisoning, well, I couldn't have them share their first _technical_ kiss and not show you, could I?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** With Rose and The Doctor adventuring separately for a wee bit, these next chapters will most likely be divided, as equally as I can manage, into half Rose, half Nine POV. Very George R. R. Martin of me. Without the dragons, regicide, and gratuitous nudity. Unless you're into that…

I do not own Doctor Who. Any resemblance to a well-plotted, captivating tale is strictly coincidental. Any recording or rebroadcast must be approved by NBC, Viacom, and Major League Baseball.

**Pinklilieflower:** Uh, I might be able to work in some horcruxes, but I don't think any of us want Rose gaining her "forever" with the Doctor by partitioning her soul (Linux, anyone?) and infusing it into a collection of inanimate objects. What would she choose, anyway? Her sneakers, probably. The Doctor's old watch, definitely… I need to stop this train of thought before it goes too far. **Mauve Guest:** You just made me think of Jackie, The Doctor, and foreplay in the same breath, and I will never forgive you for that. Never. **TK:** If it makes you feel better, I think Rose likes Chamomille tea just fine, but not when she's just woken up and needs the caffeine. :D

* * *

Rose stepped into the corner chippy and immediately stopped and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. The air was suffused with the scent of beer-battered cod, chips fresh out of the fryer, and the slightest hint of the newsprint they used to wrap everything up. This was her ambrosia. With a breezy, contented smile, Rose queued up and ordered a basket of fish with two orders of chips. Minutes later, she was carrying the newspaper-lined basket and its still-steaming contents to a small, lone table by the window. Rose mixed a bit of hot sauce into the little cup of tartar sauce and dug in.

She was halfway through her meal when a familiar voice outside caught her attention. Rose paused, mid-bite, before deciding it was just her imagination and continuing with her full-tilt slide into greasy sinfulness. Then, a man and a woman walked into the shop, and she nearly choked. She watched, heart in her throat, as the pair queued up, their backs blessedly turned to her. There, big as life, arguing with some unknown lad about the best way to treat rickets, stood Martha Jones. She looked a bit younger than Rose remembered, not quite as strong, and decidedly less pregnant.

Her heart was beating a panicked staccato in her chest, willing Martha not to turn around, to see Rose sitting there behind her. Given the evidence at hand, Rose suddenly had no idea what time she was in. This was London, clearly, and one not too terribly dissimilar from the one she'd left. As such, they couldn't have gone too far. Still, she had no idea whether or not "she" had met Martha by this point in the timeline, and she shrunk down in her seat as best she could, putting a hand up to hide the side of her face from the woman she'd long known as her best friend in this universe. Next to Mickey, that is. If Martha did know her, and if Rose was meant to be somewhere specific at this point in time, it wouldn't do to let the woman see her.

_Oh, shit._ The thought came suddenly to her mind, where was "she?" What if she was meeting Martha here for lunch? If she knew herself, and she wasn't half sure she did, she'd never turn down lunch at a chippy. With that thought, the level of panic she was capable of capped out. Her pulse leveled out to a more normal, if still slightly elevated, rate, and her mind was suddenly clear, assessing everything around her. Every point of ingress was mentally catalogued, along with the number of people in the shop and their position relative to her own, but her primary focus was discovering the date. The lone telly in the shop was broadcasting a football match, no help there. The tally monitor on the cash register, which showed the customer their order total and, sometimes, displayed the date, was burnt out.

Then, a thought occurred to her, and she tore the newsprint out from under the few remaining morsels in her basket. Flattening it out on the table, Rose searched the top line for a date. There, smeared by salt and oil, she made out July 20-something and the year – 2009. Granted, it wasn't necessarily that day's paper, but it probably wasn't more than a few days old, either. The month and year were enough. Relief washed through her, knowing Martha wouldn't recognize her, until the second realization hit. She knew exactly where "she" was: hundreds of miles away, huddled in Pete's old Jeep with him, her mother, and Mickey, making their way toward Norway.

Rose crumpled up the page of newspaper and stared down at her remaining chips. Suddenly, she had no appetite. On July 27th, she'd be standing on a deserted beach fifty miles outside Bergen, Norway, talking to a ghost. He would be genial, calm, and composed as he informed her of her own death and explained there was no way for her to return home, to return to him. She would hold it together to the best of her ability, reassuring him she would be OK, would carry on without him, all the while inside she felt like she was dying in earnest. Finally, she would crumble and confess her love as a desperate sob tore from her, and he, he would say her name one last time in that calm, even tone and disappear forever. For all she knew, that day might be today.

When Martha and her friend sat down at a table next to Rose's, she hardly registered the fact. Martha's familiar voice drifted in and out of her consciousness, the easy, unpretentious intelligence with which she spoke as warm and comforting as a sunbeam. Rose, meanwhile, stared out the window, unseeing, for several long minutes. It was an unfortunate coincidence, one this Doctor could never have foreseen. For just a few moments, she afforded herself the luxury of time; time to sit, to dwell, and to regret. To be every inch the heart-sick soul she needed to be in that moment. Finally it was Martha's voice, or, rather, the lack thereof, that stirred her from her wallowing. As she brought her focus back to the now, she realized the whole shop had gone quiet.

Looking around, Rose realized everyone; Martha, her friend, the line cook, the teen girl at the register, the customers on-line, those seated at the half dozen tables in the tiny shop, were all looking outside in stunned silence. The only sound remaining was that of the fryer, bubbling away around a basket of submerged chips. Turning back to the window she'd just been staring out, she saw what she had so utterly missed in her absentmindedness. It was snowing. Proper snowing. Large, heavy clusters of snowflakes were falling outside the window at a heady rate. The ground was already coated in a thin layer of white, and the people outside had all stopped wherever they were to look up at the sky, blinking as the large, chilled clusters landed on their upturned faces.

Rose's brow creased and she stood up from her seat, leaning over the table to get a better look upward. The sky had been mostly clear when she entered. Now, a full, heavy canopy of pale gray had settled in over London. For a split second Rose couldn't help but smile at the graceful, serene vision of white before her. It was picturesque, this sudden winter wonderland, only – only it wasn't winter. Not even close. It was July, and no matter how many freak weather patterns passed through her beloved city, never had she seen it snow in July, and certainly not to this extent. The smile fell from her lips as her heart sank. Every instinct in her body proclaimed, unanimously, that something terrible was happening.

"This is wrong," came Martha's voice behind her. Just as she said it, a flash lit up a patch of clouds to the east and, several seconds later, the sound of thunder rolled over them.

"Very, very wrong," Rose agreed.

* * *

There was now enough meat in the refrigerator and freezer to last them six months. Or, one month, if The Doctor got poisoned again. He'd even started a massive prime rib on a slow cook for supper that evening, feeling just a bit bad that he'd mindlessly plowed through nearly every morsel on the ship while Rose was asleep. Never mind the coffee and the tea. Had he not finished off every last dreg of caffeine, he likely would have survived the morning relatively unscathed. She'd still have been shocked, no doubt, but she'd likely have smiled and teased him instead of dressing him down like an errant child.

The truth be plain, he'd spent over a decade, now, traveling alone. Oh, he'd run into help everywhere he went, much in the same manner he always did. There was the sweet, plucky girl Lynda who'd helped out with that whole Nestene Consciousness business. He'd considered bringing her along, lonely as he was right after the War, but beneath all her cheer and willingness, he saw a distinct lack of sense and resilience. Losing a companion, after everything he'd lost, was a risk he couldn't take. So, he'd gone on. Way on.

After running about Earth so soon after his regeneration; thrown in among the faces of a species that looked, outwardly, so like his own, who blundered about their world from work to food to sleep in an unceasing, uncaring, monotonous cycle; he'd fled. Raced off to Ugor VI, a tiny, habitable asteroid that orbited a system of three stars where he'd overthrown a child dictator with the help of the lad's own parents. Then, there was the Forest of Cheem where he'd run into the lovely and bold Jabe and helped her stop an invasive off-world parasite from destroying thousands of acres of forestland. He was afraid, always afraid, to let them stick around long enough to get themselves killed on his account.

On and on he went in a mad dash to escape his memories of the Time War and balance out the miles of red in his ledger. However, in all his brash deeds, he'd not had to consider the happiness and well-being of someone, the same someone, so constantly for any appreciable measure of time. He cared for people, yes, for life all over the universe. That had never stopped, but that distant, generic manner of not wanting to see whole societies obliterated wasn't the same as getting to know a person on the whole and being mindful of their needs and hopes. And Rose, the wild, capable thing that she was, had demanded so very little of him. It was easy to let himself forget.

So, he'd decided, he'd make amends in what little manner he could. He'd knuckle down, get his share of the shopping done without whinging, despite the mind-numbing tedium. He'd make them dinner, and he'd make an effort in future not to take her very presence for granted. The Doctor walked past the console and down the ramp toward the door, resolved in his plan of action. Then, he opened the door and several inches of loosely fallen snow fell inside the threshold. He blinked at it, confused, for a second. When he looked up again, his eyebrows rose, creasing his forehead in astonishment.

It was snowing, and not just a little dusting. Big, fat clusters of flakes fell from the newly gray sky in a curtain of white. Stepping outside the TARDIS and ignoring the cold, The Doctor looked up and around, spinning once around in a circle. It had been mostly sunny when he'd entered the ship; now, the best he could describe it was a torrential snow. When a flash of light grabbed his attention and he saw a bolt of lightening arcing through the downpour, he rushed back into the TARDIS. He shut the door just as the low rumble of thunder reached him, and he bolted to the console, picking up his phone and dialing Rose's mobile.

The Doctor held his breath as the line connected, rang once, and an automated voice picked up and declared that the number he had dialed was not in service. He redialed, more carefully this time, and that same, infuriating voice came on. Slamming the phone down in the cradle, he rushed to his monitor, working furiously to find an explanation. When scans for EMPs, cancellation waves, and radio signal disruptors came back negative, he stared at the screen for a moment, fuming and at a momentary loss. Then, his screen flickered and displayed the date.

He'd intended to land them in London a bit early on purpose. Having no idea how long Torchwood would keep looking for them, he thought it best to drop in before the whole mess had started. Knowing Rose had spent six months in Africa before they'd run into each other, he thought they'd be perfectly safe landing in March 2019. Problem was, it was July 2009. In all likelihood, she hadn't even had this phone ten years ago. She may not have even arrived, yet. Suddenly, that thought struck him. Unsure when, exactly, Rose had landed in this universe, he had no way of knowing whether she might run into herself.

The Doctor cursed himself as he sprinted from the console and back out into the street. He could have put a Universal Signal Amplifier in her mobile, but he hadn't thought of it. He could have asked her more about her life, how and when she'd ended up here, but she'd been so guarded and he'd been largely unwilling to lay any of his cards down first. Now, something was happening, something he didn't understand, something that could put her in grave danger; and in the midst of it all, there was a threat of Rose meeting her former self, altering the timeline, and effectively erasing herself from his life. Hearts beating a fierce rhythm, he ran through the thickening blizzard. He had to find her, somehow.

* * *

**Footnote:** 2009, you ask? According to "Journey's End," Pete's Universe is a few years ahead of Rose's home universe. So, with the episode airing in 2006, I estimated her landing in 2009. Sue me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** So, I'm going to upgrade my posting schedule to Monday – Wednesday – Friday. I seem to be working at a pace to be able to promise at least that minimum. As usual, I'll still post on off-days if I have something good to post that won't get in the way of the regular schedule. And, speaking of, here's another bonus post! I'm on fire. Mostly because the BBC execs found me and set me on fire.

Kidding, of course, but that brings us to the salient point. I do not own Doctor Who.

**TK: **I totally agree, the instant "soul-matey" thing is irksome. I think the beauty of Nine and Rose was the plausibility of other, supporting explanations. Those little moments don't have to be summed up as "aww, they're already in lurv," it can be taken as "he's lost everything and he's so glad he met this bright, brave girl." That's kind of how I see him, here. He's starting to realize he doesn't _have_ to go it alone, he's found someone capable of surviving the crap he drags them through, and he doesn't want to lose that. Maybe, just maybe, it means he needs to start thinking about something besides just saving the universe. Not that that isn't a noble cause, or anything. :D **Royslady: **"Time Lord Tech Support, this is Margaret speaking… Uh huh… Not responding, eh? Did you remember to charge it? … Yes, sorry, of course you did. Try turning it off and then on again." **Dreamcatcher:** Sometimes, we all need a kick in the ass from a deadly alien species to stop standing in our own way. :D **Mauve Guest:** Oh, believe me, I remember Jackie when she first saw The Doctor. *shiver* Tell me of this brain bleach. I'm not going to go all "Eternal Sunshine" am I? **pinklilliflower**: "And don't think I didn't feel your mind havin' a quick wander, you dirty old host for the Dark Lord. We're sharin' that brain, you know. And what's that about, 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?' Did he change his name to some barmy symbol, like Prince, is that it?" **Vaylyn**: I totally understand, I find a lot of good Fics, but I often find it hard to constantly review. I mean, what do I say, "S-still doin' good!" But thanks for popping in! I'll try not to disappoint.** nightland9657:** Oh, the subject of her absorbing the Time Vortex will have to come up, and will eventually become a pretty crucial plot point. Vague enough? That's me, makin' the readers hate me whenever possible. But glad to have another Nine fan on board. I mean Ten and Eleven are wicked fun and all, but they had good runs, and, more importantly, they just weren't Nine.

* * *

"We need to get back to the hospital," Martha Jones stated, unequivocally. Her mate looked at her, astonished, as she gathered up her bag, shoved a couple chips hastily in her mouth, and started for the door.

"In this?" he gaped, "Are you mad? It's snowed five inches in ten minutes! It's bedlam out there!"

"Yes, Oliver, and it's only going to get worse. You wanna be stuck in a chip shop overnight?" Martha had turned back to face him, spreading her arms wide in exasperation, "Besides, people are going to get hurt in this. The hospital needs us."

"What, so we get stuck at the hospital overnight, instead? I just got off a 36-hour shift," the lad, Oliver, reminded, though he did get up from his seat and took a few steps toward her and the door.

"So did I," Martha said, somewhat deflated, "Do you think it matters to them?" She motioned out the window, and Rose watched, discreetly, the interplay between them from her seat. Despite the fact Martha didn't know her, would only see her as another face in the crowd and certainly think nothing of it when they met, officially, in two-years' time, she instinctively slouched in her seat, trying to make herself appear insignificant. She wanted so badly to stop her, to insist it wasn't safe, but she knew better. She couldn't make a spectacle of herself, she could only watch as the lad reluctantly nodded and he and Martha stepped out into the blizzard.

Rose swung herself out of her seat and followed them out the door. Outside, it was a complete whiteout. No one could see more than twenty feet in front of them, and the sound of people shouting and dozens of car horns honking filled the street, muffled somewhat by the freak precipitation. Rose watched as Martha and Oliver walked down the sidewalk to her right, heads lowered. She looked left, in the general direction of the TARDIS. She knew she ought to return, try to find The Doctor. No doubt, he'd noticed all this and was already working on figuring it all out. She could help, it was the best and the smartest thing to do at that moment.

Rose turned right. Cursing herself, and her choice of wardrobe, she bore her head down against the snow and began following Martha and her colleague at a discreet distance. She wanted to make sure Martha was safe in all this. She knew she couldn't do much to stop it, not without the TARDIS and The Doctor, but when it came down to it, she couldn't bear to return. Not until she was sure Martha had made it to the hospital unscathed. She'd follow them there; then, she told herself, she'd return to the TARDIS. The Doctor would be just fine on his own. What trouble could he possibly get into before she got back?

She knew the answer to that, of course, in stark detail, but she marched on, her shoes quickly soaking through as she shuffled through the snow piled just above her ankles. She hugged her arms to her sides, her forearms bare in the ¾ sleeve blouse. She suddenly pined for the days when she'd worn hoodies just – just _everywhere_ she went. Squinting against the deluge, she kept the figures ahead of her in sight while allowing enough space to legitimately pass as just another Londoner trying to get home in the storm. After about five minutes, she could barely feel her toes anymore, and she hadn't a clue where they were. She hoped very much that Martha and her mate knew where they were headed in all this mess.

Rose paused a moment, turning around and wondering if she ought not retrace her steps and return to the TARDIS after all. She wasn't sure, now, that she'd be able to find her way back later, and the snow seemed to be getting worse, the clumps denser. Just as she looked back at the still moving figures of Martha and Oliver, there was a blinding flash of light and an earth-shaking crash that nearly knocked her off her feet. Ears ringing and multicolored spots dancing in her vision, Rose looked up to realize a bolt of lightening had struck the face of the building they were passing some five stories up. Martha and Oliver had stopped in their tracks, hanging on to each other's shoulders, and Rose watched, horrified, as a section of the edifice gave way.

Rose screamed at them to move, to look out, but could barely hear her own voice in her ringing ears. So, she charged forward, her sodden shoes skidding in the snow. She fell hard on one knee, but pushed herself up, ignoring the fierce stab of pain. Heart pounding, she watched as a cascade of brick and snow fell, seemingly in slow motion, down toward Martha and Oliver. She could barely see them, just shadows in a sea of white, but she sprinted on, harder than she could ever remember running before, closing the gap in seconds and swinging her arms wide as she plowed into the pair of them. Her partially numb hands grasped desperately for purchase, closing over fabric and hanging on as she pushed and dragged forward.

In less than two steps, the three of them stumbled and fell into the snow, elbows and knees finding pavement. Simultaneously, the cascade of bricks made an unholy clatter and Rose tucked her head under her shoulders as best she could, feeling the odd stray brick hit her legs or her back. She stayed still for several seconds, breathing hard and cringing in anticipation. When the projectiles seemed to have abated, she slowly raised her head, letting go of the two medical residents and flipping over to survey the damage. Bricks lay scattered about their legs and feet, and a pile of debris rose, menacing even in its inert state, just inches from their toes. Rose exhaled, heavily.

Next to her, Martha and Oliver stirred. The latter immediately scrambled his feet away, folding his legs up to his chest as he saw the mound of jagged potential death. Martha's mouth was open, her eyes wide. Rose, unable to help herself, released a choked laugh and smiled wide at the other woman's stunned expression. She'd done something stupid, so very, very stupid in so many ways. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Her cover was blown, there was no way to make Martha forget her, now, but she didn't care. She'd had no choice, as she saw it. No telling what The Doctor might say, later, but in that moment, Rose felt only mad relief and joy.

"Bit dicey, that," Rose offered, adrenaline making her giddy, "You all right?"

"No," Oliver whimpered behind her back.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," Martha dismissed, looking around her in confusion before bringing her gaze back up to Rose's brilliant grin, "You saved my life."

"Right, well, guess we're even, then."

* * *

The streets were chaos. What cars hadn't slid or crashed into each other were trapped by their unlucky compatriots and the stunningly low visibility. People milled around their vehicles, shouting at each other and into their mobiles. All the while, the storm was worsening. The Doctor had gone up one side of the street and down the other for three blocks, looking in all the bakeries, grocers, and butchers' shops he came across. Everywhere he went, people either stood and watched the storm in paralyzed awe, or wasted their energy raging against their fellow man and the circumstances none of them could control.

In all of it, The Doctor was quickly loosing his patience. He'd no way of knowing he'd already passed – twice – the chip shop where Rose had been or that she was slogging through the storm toward Royal Hope Hospital. All he did know was that none of the shop-keepers he'd inquired with recalled seeing a young woman with dark, dishwater blonde hair wearing khaki cargo slacks and a violet blouse, and as these miserable apes ran and shouted around him, or stood frozen in fruitless terror, his frustration and irritability were growing. As a last resort, The Doctor stepped into a chemist's on the off-chance that Rose might have stopped off for some personal items.

While the thought certainly didn't bear dwelling on, he was perfectly aware of human physiology, in all its messy inferiority. As he stepped in the door, a trio of sleigh bells that hung from the handle announcing his entrance, he scanned the shop. A young Iranian woman stood behind the counter in her lab coat, engaged in a shouting match with an elderly white bloke. A lone aisle of non-prescription goods bifurcated the tiny shop, and near the back, a young woman with blue hair and a copious amount of piercings was shouting into her mobile as the Korean bloke who seemed to be her boyfriend stood by trying to soothe her.

"Right," The Doctor muttered to himself before shouting above the din, "Oi! Shut it!" The four denizens of the shop suddenly quieted, all eyes turning to the tall, angry man in the snow-dusted leather jacket. "Much better. Now, I need to find someone, a girl, she…"

"Who are you, then?" the gentleman who'd just been shouting with the chemist about whether or not the phone lines were down peered up at him from behind heavy glasses.

"The Doctor," he replied, curtly, "I'm lookin' for…"

"His doctor?" the chemist asked, then turning to the older man, "Did you escape from the loony bin, then?"

"You watch your mouth, young girl. I'll have you know I served in the war,"

"Yeah? Which one was that? The Hundred Years' War?"

"What's goin' on?" The young man asked from the back.

"End of the world, that's what's goin' on," his girlfriend declared.

"'S not the end of the world," the chemist scoffed, before turning to her adversary once again, "But the phones are out, and I don't appreciate the attitude about it, mister."

"I said hush!" The Doctor roared, and everyone stilled. Stern blue eyes scanned from face to face, making sure all eyes were on him. "You…" he pointed at the chemist and walked up to her.

"Shae," she said, suddenly timid. "Name's Shae."

"Yes, yes," The Doctor brushed it aside, "I'm lookin' for my friend. Average height, sandy blonde hair, khaki trousers and a purple blouse. Have you seen her?" The Doctor watched intently as the young woman shook her head. Exhaling heavily, he leaned his hands on the counter and dropped his head, closing his eyes. There was nowhere else he could think to look. He could have easily missed her in the blizzard, if she'd been making her way to the TARDIS as he popped in an out of shops. She hadn't made it back to the ship, that much he knew. She could be lost in the storm, she could be hurt, she could have gotten herself mixed up in whatever was causing this. He'd no way of knowing, the only reassurance he did have was that she hadn't disappeared. The timeline was still intact; he could feel it.

"Mixed up," he whispered, suddenly realizing what he could do. He lifted his head, eyes bright and knowing, and gave the chemist a manic grin, "If there's a source to all this, she's after it. I find the trouble, I find her."

"Wha's that supposed to mean?" grumbled the old man standing beside him.

"You said the phone's out. Can I see it?" The Doctor ignored the old curmudgeon.

"Oh, don't start that. I been tellin' him…" Shae started, plainly exhausted by the topic.

"No, I believe you," The Doctor assured, good humor largely restored, "But I need to know why it's out."

"How you gonna be able to tell that, then?" she crossed her arms, arching a skeptical brow at him.

"Jus' trust me," he smiled and held out his hand. The chemist looked at the hand a moment, then his face, and with a labored sigh she took the phone off its cradle and handed it to him. The Doctor cheerfully withdrew the Sonic from his inner jacket pocket and began fussing about the phone receiver, putting it to his ear intermittently. "Line's not disconnected," he mumbled, "There's somethin' usin' the line, takin' up all the capacity."

"Like dial-up?" Shae crinkled her nose at the thought.

"Yeah, same idea, but I don't know what's usin' it or why."

"How can you tell all that?" came a voice behind him. The rocker girl and her boyfriend had made their way to the front of the store and they were regarding The Doctor and his Sonic Screwdriver curiously.

"I jus' can," he shrugged, "Important thing is, the storm didn't cut off the system. Someone – or somethin' – is behind this."

"Who could be capable of somethin' like this?" the young man asked.

"No idea!" The Doctor beamed, "But I do know the interference is weak, here. Maybe I can follow it…" He let his thought trail off before turning abruptly and heading for the door.

"Hold on!" Shae chided, coming out from behind the counter, "You can't go out there, now. Look at it!" The Doctor, along with everyone else, stopped and gazed out the glass storefront. So preoccupied with his self-appointed task, The Doctor, along with everyone else in the shop, hadn't noticed a distinct rattling noise gradually building outside. People were no longer in the streets, but huddled in their cars or in stores or under doorways, trying to escape the golf-ball sized hail bombarding London. Already, the newsstands and cars bore massive dents and cracked windows.

"It's getting stronger," The Doctor acknowledged, softly.

"What's next?!" the elderly gentleman exclaimed, "Cats and Dogs?"

"Frogs and locusts," said The Doctor.

* * *

**Footnote:** I never understood how frogs were a plague. I love frogs. And why start with turning the water into blood, why start with your strong hand, and move on to – frogs? The hordes of flies and locusts I get... or would, if they hadn't come after the land was "plagued" with hosts of insect-devouring amphibians. The only reason Moses had to continue on to boils and pestilence and infanticide was because one of his "plagues" canceled three others out. There were 3 separate insect-related plagues, people (a point I often bring up when dearest hubby criticizes my use of the scorched-earth policy every time I find a spider in the house). The Bible was not well-plotted is all I'm saying.*

*For those who don't realize this was a humor bit, put the pitchforks away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **I do not own Doctor Who or any of its characters, plots, themes, or settings. I'd probably just break them if I did. I can't have nice things.

**Jeni27:** Largely, yeah, "we're even" is a reference to Martha helping Rose and the Doctor get the hell out of Dodge. I mean, it could also refer to anything that happened during their years as field agents together, but I think in that type of situation they lost count as to who saved whom more. **Royslady: **Unfortunately, since I haven't gotten around to watching any Classic Who (I know, shame on me, I will get to it eventually), writing any of the others as way beyond me at the moment. Never mind herding Doctors. I hear they're like cats in that manner. :D **Yahaira:** Hahaha, lurk away! I've long since learned to pay more attention to view stats and "follows" than just reviews. But I'm really glad you stopped in that you enjoy the story! **Dreamcatcher49:** Well, maybe Hitler. I think she'd let him get torn apart by a pack of wild dogs if it was an option. :D **lexie allgood:** Nine is most definitely looked over, but I have found a fair number of great Fics centered on Nine, that makes up for it a _little_. Either way, you're in good company around here. **TK:** I know! I'm such a meanie pants. But I swear it'll pay off. I hope. That, or everyone reading this will build it up so much in their minds that the eventual explanation is a horrible let-down. **pinklilliflower:** All I know is, the authors requested Ra make a special cameo appearance in that whole Exodus thing and the uppity prick declined. **Mauve Guest:** Yes, tying up the phone line suggests we're dealing with a teenager. Better check the freezer, all the Hot Pockets have probably disappeared, as well. And in my experience "handy applicator" is never an accurate descriptor.

* * *

The waiting room at Royal Hope Hospital was a madhouse when Rose, Martha, and Oliver stumbled inside. Outside, it had just begun to hail, and all three were wincing and holding their arms over their heads as they came running through the automatic doors. Between the bricks and the hail, they were all going to have bruises from head to toe. Inside, nurses and techs were running about, shouting orders over the din of hundreds of people; some mobile, some not; crammed into their waiting room. For all the disasters she'd seen, Rose felt immediately overwhelmed.

"Right," Martha addressed Rose, calm and determined, "I'm sorry, you'll have to wait out here. Oliver, we need to find Stoker and get our marchin' orders." Then, back to Rose, "Will you be all right?"

"Oh, yes, I'll be fine," she waved off, "You go on. Good luck."

"Yeah, thanks," Martha smiled ruefully. With that, the two residents waded into the sea of people and Rose stood, feeling utterly useless, just outside the teaming mass of humanity that crowded the front desk demanding attention. She didn't envy Martha and Oliver and the rest of the staff their work. She could investigate the most convoluted mysteries on Earth, chase "monsters" through the dense jungle or metropolitan traffic, and stand toe-to-toe with murderous Raxacoricofallapatorians, but in the face of this much suffering and pain, she wilted. Everyone had their strengths, and, not for the first time, Rose deeply admired Martha's.

In the middle of it all, the storm was worsening. Rose turned around and took a step or two toward the door they'd just entered through. Hail the size of golf balls bombarded the streets outside as lightening arced and crashed through the atmosphere. She felt so very helpless, stuck in this hospital, away from the TARDIS and The Doctor and anything else that might allow her to _do_ something about this mess. Thinking again, she pulled her mobile from her pocket, daring to hope for good news. No signal. Of course. Her carrier contract didn't even _exist_, yet. The high-tech, private-production smart phone Torchwood had provided was basically a brick, for now.

Turning back, Rose surveyed the mayhem once more. She knew sod-all about medicine beyond basic survival trauma care, and if she started chewing up the plants in the lobby and spitting them in people's wounds, she might get yelled at. What she did know, however, was 'acting like she was meant to be there and largely being allowed to wander wherever she pleased because of it.' With one last, worried, look over her shoulder at the storm outside, Rose squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and stepped into the fray. She shouldered her way through the crush of patients, headed for a fire door at the far end of the lobby marked 'Stairs.'

With all the confidence of someone who belonged, who knew exactly where they were going, Rose pushed open the door and entered the stairwell. As the heavy metal door shut behind her, it largely muted the bluster of activity in the lobby, and Roses' nerves improved immediately. However, she realized she had another problem as she began climbing the stairs and a sharp rush of pain radiated from her left knee. Rose swore fiercely and stopped, a sweat breaking out immediately on her brow. This was the last thing she needed. Still, as she took a few deep breaths and cleared her mind, she reasoned it couldn't be that bad. After all, she could still move it, just not climb with it. It was likely just a hairline fracture to the patella.

She looked up at the stairs rising and circling above her head, suddenly looking like a Sisyphean obstacle.

"Hell with this," she spoke to the echoing concrete, "I'll take my chances with the lift."

* * *

"'Scuse me. Hi! Could I use your phone?" The cashier, she was sixteen if she was a day, looked up at the daft face and prominent ears with serious skepticism. His was the only cheerful face in the shop. Everyone else was huddled in and around the shelves and aisles of the corner market. When this all started, some had been terrified and some had been angry, but after the hail had begun and the electric storm picked up, they were all subdued. They huddled together, staying away from the windows, while the cashiers hunkered down at their stations. Except this man, who'd just clomped in out of the nightmare with his leather jacket held over his head. And he was smiling. The idiot was smiling.

"I'm sorry," the girl, small and lovely with mousy brown hair and a healthy smattering of freckles, replied softly. She was looking up at him from the floor of her checkout stand, her arms wrapped about her knees.

"Your phone," The Doctor said more softly, his manic grin tempering to a gentle smile, "I need to check your phone, if that's all right."

"You with the phone company?" she asked, curious. The Doctor swung to glance at the weather, and turned back to her.

"Does it matter?" he quipped. After a brief hesitation, she unfolded herself and stood to hand him the phone from the partition behind her register. The Doctor took it, giving her a nod of gratitude, and pulled the Sonic Screwdriver out, scanning and manipulating the phone much as he'd done at the chemist's. The girl watched all this, enraptured.

"It's weaker! Da-" he caught himself as the cashier flinched at his tone, took a deep breath, and smiled, "Sorry, bit of a long story. Turns out I went the wrong direction, but thank you for your cooperation." He held the phone receiver out to her, forcing a smile, and she reluctantly took it back. "Right then," he looked at the shoppers and clerks huddled inside the store, "Stay inside, long as you can. We'll sort this out."

"What do you mean?" a balding, middle aged man stood up from the canned soup aisle, "How can anyone fix this?"

"Ah, right," The Doctor scrambled for an excuse, "I'm with the Department of Atmospheric Regulation, we're just going to use some really – there's a device we have, s'like the opposite of cloud seeding – no, uh, it's uh, it's more of a laser beam," at that last, everyone started looking around and muttering. The Doctor sighed and gave in, "Oh, hell with it. I'm an alien here to save the Earth and I'm goin' to use pan-dimensional wave transmogrifiers or some such daft piece of equipment to stop the storm. Good enough?" He looked around at their stunned, skeptical faces. "Well, I'm off, then. Ta!"

"Wait!" the cashier squeaked, "You can't go back out there."

"Yes I can," The Doctor beamed at her, and like that, he was out the door, pulling his jacket up over his head and making a dash for it, as much as he could in the shin-deep snow and ice slurry. Heading south had only weakened the signal, so he headed north. After a block, he passed the chemist's he'd started in, watching their stunned faces from beneath the cover of his jacket as they gazed out the window at the storm and saw him running back the other way. He pushed on, through the barrage of hail, ducking into a chip shop a block up from the chemist's.

Once inside, he shook the ice off his jacket, settled it neatly on his shoulders, and approached the counter ignoring everyone's looks of amazement, including the cashier's. He gave the young lad; ginger, he was; a daft grin, "Mind if I use your phone?"

"S'out," the boy mumbled, still staring at him.

"Yes, I'm aware, I jus' need to check it,"

"What you doin' out in that storm?"

"Look at me, I'm stupid." The Doctor beamed, "Now, may I please inspect your phone?"

* * *

The vast majority of hospital staff had been diverted to the Emergency Room and minor intake wards. That's not to say the higher levels weren't still staffed, but sparsely, and mostly by nurses. So, as Rose had searched the third floor oncology ward in a "borrowed" lab coat, she felt more exposed than usual. The halls were quiet, and most of the nurses immersed in tasks more important than paying mind to an unfamiliar-looking physician. Her first stop, knee complaining with each step, was the supply closet. Trying her best to look officious, she scanned the door placards out of the corners of her vision.

Finally, she found a door that looked promising and, denying the instinct to look around her and make sure no one was watching, she turned the door knob and stepped inside. Much to her surprise, and theirs, she walked in to find two male nurses in complimentary states of dishevelment snogging like mad against the back shelf. They immediately broke apart as the light from the corridor spilled in, and Rose quickly shut the door. The two lads looked at her with guilty, terrified expressions, while Rose smiled at them apologetically.

"Sorry lads, didn't mean to interrupt," she assured, raising her hands to show she'd no intention of getting them in trouble, "Just lookin' for a knee brace. I've got someone downstairs with a cracked patella but we've a backlog of people waitin' on casts and, well, you know what's up."

"Right, Doctor," the taller lad said, straightening his scrubs and passing a hand through his dark hair, "Not many of those, here. More up on the fifth floor, orthopedic unit."

"Right," Rose smiled. Lord but was it odd being called 'Doctor,' "Shoulda known. Was hopin' I wouldn't have to go all the way up, but thanks, lads."

"Anytime," they both chimed in, still fidgeting uncomfortably like children who'd been caught nicking candy from a shop.

"I'll, uh, I'll just be off, then," Rose was suppressing a laugh as she turned and opened the door. Before exiting, she paused and turned her head back, "by the way, you might want to go easy," she tilted her head toward the nurse who'd largely remained silent, "no one likes havin' their nose slobbered on." With that, she swept out the door and into the hall, finally allowing a snort of laughter to escape her, and the head nurse gave her a harsh look as she passed by on the way to the lift, still laughing to herself.

The fifth floor was slightly better staffed, some of the earlier intakes having been transferred to orthopedic. She was grateful, feeling safer blending it with at least a handful of residents and practicing physicians in lab coats. She quickly found the supply closet, this time free of snogging hospital staff, and rifled through a plethora of knee braces and bandages. The metal frame knee braces seemed a bit much, so she opted for one of neoprene and Velcro braces that had metal supports inserted along the sides. Her knee was already quite swollen, and she knew it would need proper care, but she also knew The Doctor would eventually criticize her for letting these "barbarians" treat it. Exiting the closet, Rose hunted down her next target.

* * *

The Doctor had followed the landline interference from the chip shop, cross-crossing the street as he went, up the avenue and down a side street to where he now stood in the lobby of a large, and rather posh, metro London bank. Convincing any of the tellers, cowering at the transaction counter behind their glass divider, to let him use the phone had proved impossible. Irritated with their general obtuseness, he'd considered telling them that, while their little barrier may have been bulletproof, it wasn't sonic-screwdriver-proof. That seemed less than productive, however, and with a flash of his psychic paper (and a wholly fabricated government agency) he'd eventually convinced one of the bankers to let him use her phone.

Luckily, he'd been right, the signal was stronger, here. Almost strong enough to make out the underlying pattern. He still needed to find the source, but he knew he was close. Problem was, he wasn't altogether sure how he'd decipher it once he did. Clever as he was, he needed the TARDIS to help unfold, unencrypt, and perform the millions of calculations necessary to translate the signal. Assuming there was a pattern and it wasn't just static. He stood looking out the glass edifice of the bank, debating his next move. Did he keep following the signal, or did he return to the TARDIS and bring it about?

One thing he was sure of, was that the storm was progressing. He hadn't missed the fact that, on his last dash from the lingerie shop to here (and had _that_ ever been awkward), the wind had picked up significantly. The hail was now driving at a slight angle. Most shop windows were able to withstand it for the time being, but he knew it wasn't long before that changed. Now, he stood looking across the intersection crowded with debilitated cars at the Royal Hope Hospital. He contemplated going there, next, but quickly ruled it out. They'd be up to their ears in intakes, and he didn't want to get in the middle of that racket, not he least of which because he didn't want to be in the way.

Then, as his eyes trailed up to the foreboding sky, something astounding caught his attention. It was incredibly difficult to spot, even for him, but in the monochromatic bank of dense clouds there was a distinct swirl pattern. The arms were wide and subtly nestled in the roiling storm, but there it was. The storm was cyclonic, and as he stepped closer to the glass to get a better look, he spotted a clearing, an amorphous filter of sunlight banking off the clouds. There was an eye to this storm, and it was centered directly above Royal Hope. In an instant, The Doctor had made his decision.

* * *

Rose had had the notion that, from the roof of the hospital, she might have a clearer view of the storm. While she was doubtful about seeing anything through the hail, never mind being able to do anything about it, and dreaded stepping out in that tumult again, she had to try _something_. Trouble was, the roof wasn't serviced by the lift, so she had to traverse the final story up the stairwell, climbing the steps exclusively on her right leg, bringing the left up after her and using it as a prop, leaning heavily on the handrail, to take the next step. It took for-bleeding-ever. Finally, breathing heavily, she reached the landing where the stairs ended and the lone fire door leading to the roof.

She dreaded going back out in that, but she took a deep breath, squared up her resolve and pushed the door open onto – nothing. The tarmacked roof stretched out before her, and she could hear the rattle of hail and howling wind beyond, but as she stepped out onto the roof, there was nothing. She spun around once or twice, taking in the elevated helipad and exhaust vents and satellite receivers, but there appeared to be no storm. In fact, there seemed to be a small degree of sunshine, and as she looked up, she saw it. Swirling above her was a wide open circle of blue sky framed by the wrathful storm. The sun was at such an oblique angle in the day as not to shine directly down, but it was there. There was light. She'd found the eye of the massive, cyclonic storm system.

"Figures," was all she had to say.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** I do not own the characters and ideas from Doctor Who. I keep checking eBay, but no dice.

**Royslady:** Well, he certainly already seems to know he'll find her wherever the trouble is. :D She may be all bad-ass field agent, but after being out of the planet-hopping game awhile, I'm sure she'll dig herself into mischief she can't get out of. **TK:** In the words of Hedonism Bot "I apologize for nothing!" Also, I take it you're the person I want to play poker against. If I played poker. Stupid game. **Mauve Guest:** Yes, I believe The Doctor is that "Unstoppable Force" referred to in philosophical quandaries. Does that make Rose the "Immovable Object?" Also, regarding the Mac 'n Cheese, that's my bad… **katydidtoo:** If she did, she wouldn't be Rose. "D

* * *

After leaving the roof, and all _that_ entailed, Rose immediately went in search of Martha. She wasn't sure how, exactly, she'd explain to Martha what was going on, never mind who Rose was and when she was from, but she'd seen the way the wind was building outside. Let it reach hurricane force with that hail and the lightening besides, and London would be torn to shreds. She could either stumble about the hospital herself, virtually blind, or find herself a tour guide. Besides which, she thought it best to keep Martha close. That way, when it was all over, Rose could try to set everything right with her future mate.

Not wanting to be confused for an actual doctor and end up being dragged into assisting where she had no business doing so, she put on her best 'I'm busy, don't fuck with me' face and walked with as much haste and purpose as she could manage in the knee brace. She started with intake and emergency, moving up from there. Things had calmed down considerably, nearly everyone stabilized, but the nurses' stations on each floor were still abuzz with activity. Finally, in one of the open, multi-patient rooms in orthopedic, Rose spotted Martha examining a middle-aged woman's chart. Rose breezed into the room and walked straight up to the bed, giving the woman a warm smile.

"I'm sorry ma'am," Rose spoke, ignoring the way Martha's head flew up at the sound of her voice, "but I need a moment with this resident, if you don't mind."

"Is something wrong?" the woman asked, clearly already uncomfortable with the fact she was being treated by someone who wasn't a 'proper' doctor.

"What are –" Martha began.

"Goodness no," Rose assured, patting the woman's hand instinctively, until it was pulled away with a hiss of pain and she realized the appendage was bruised and swollen, "Oh, my apologies. It's just, Ms. Jones, here is the finest resident we have and I've, well, I've got a bleeder." Without waiting for a response, Rose grabbed Martha's arm and led her out of the room, Martha following more out of shock than real compliance.

"What are you doing, here?" Martha asked, incredulous, pulling her arm out of Rose's grasp as soon as they were outside the door, "And where'd you get that?" Martha gestured to the lab coat.

"Doesn't matter," Rose assured, glancing warily at the bustling nurses' station just down the hall.

"You're impersonatin' a doctor! Of course it matters," Martha insisted, never the push over.

"All right, all right," Rose hissed, "Just, keep your voice down. I need your help. Will you please just give me a minute to explain?"

"Explain what? What could you possibly explain?"

"Right," Rose hedged. How the hell did The Doctor do this? "It's a bit – out there – but that storm outside, it's centered over this hospital. I need to find what's causin' it, and I can't do that without your help."

"Oh, and what are you gonna do, then? Some kind of anti-rain dance?"

"I don't know!" Rose shot back, her nerves suddenly fraying. She felt a catch in her throat, and a small rush of panic, but she tamped it down and got control over her voice before continuing, "I don't know. But I've got to try something. This isn't regular, Martha. Somethin's behind it, somethin's causin' it, and maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's not here, but if it is, I have to find it, and I have to find a way to stop it before it gets worse." Martha's keen brown eyes looked hard into hers a moment before turning to look back through the door of the ward and out the far windows.

"You're right about one thing. This isn't regular," Martha agreed before turning back to study Rose once more, "But you sound mad." Rose had to smile. Always blunt, Martha.

"I know," Rose said, "But after the Cybermen, does it seem that far-fetched? Mad scientist controllin' the weather?"

"Who are you?" Martha asked.

"My name's Rose." She replied, "And, I'm a friend." It was all she could think to say, the only way she could come close to explaining that moment.

"Right," Martha said, looking quickly around the hall, "Guess it's no good helpin' out here if we all get destroyed. What do you need?"

"New employees," Rose replied, "Let's start, there." Martha nodded once and turned to head toward the lift. Rose followed.

"Hospital administration's on the sixth floor," she explained over her shoulder, "We'll find an empty office and use their terminal."

* * *

The Doctor wasn't too keen on hospitals in general, given the circumstances of his seventh regeneration. As he came charging through the automatic door with all the bluster and fury of the storm on his heels, he reassured himself that this time he was conscious and therefore unlikely to be subjected to highly inadvisable cardiac surgery. The lobby was busy, but not as crowded as he'd suspected it would be. Then again, given the weather, it was unlikely any of the injured had been able to reach the hospital in the last half hour. The nurses at the intake desk certainly looked surprised by his appearance.

"Sir, are you all right?" one of the nurses, a stout black gentlemen with a nametag that read 'Oscar,' came around the counter, concern etched on his face.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," The Doctor gave a quick, watery smile, "I'm lookin' for someone, wanted to see if they'd been admitted."

"You shouldn't have gone out in this," Nurse Oscar chastised, motioning him back toward the desk, "Who is it, what's 'is name, then?" He'd reached a terminal, ready to type as The Doctor stepped up to the counter.

"Her name. Rose Tyler," The Doctor replied, and the nurse glanced at him a second before he started typing, a knowing half-smile on his lips. The Doctor noticed and rolled his eyes a bit but declined to address the matter.

"No, sorry," he informed after a minute or two. "I tried Rose Tyler and R - Tyler, nothin'."

"Any Jane Does?" The Doctor asked, somewhat hesitant. She might have been unconscious, or worse, though his mind instinctively reeled back from the latter notion, and he knew after her years with Torchwood she rarely carried any identification on her. He felt an odd swell of pride at knowing that, at least. Maybe he wasn't a total lost cause.

"Three Jane Does," the nurse confirmed, his eyes darted cautiously to The Doctor. The man had been polite so far, but he'd also come charging through what looked to be hell on earth to find this friend of his, and there was something about his manner, the way he held himself and the sheltered intensity of his gaze, that gave Nurse Oscar pause.

"All admitted in the last three hours?"

"No, only two admitted from the storm," he clarified, his unease growing. One of those two was still a fatality, "What does she look like, your – friend?"

"Average height, athletic build, dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, wearin' khakis and purple button-up," The Doctor watched intently as relief washed over the man's face.

"No one matchin' that description," he said, smiling a moment before sobering up, "Sorry, mate, she's not here."

"'S all right," The Doctor dismissed, "Long shot, anyway. Listen, you got anythin' to eat around here?" The Doctor wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. Maybe both. It was possible she was still in the building, poking around. All he could do is look for the source. If she was here, he'd find her, if she wasn't, well, he needed to put a stop to this weather before it killed her and everyone else in London.

"There's a cafeteria, but only for staff. Visitor lounge has a few vending machines, though. Second floor, to the right."

"Thanks, mate," The Doctor turned to stride away.

"Hang on," Nurse Oscar insisted, and The Doctor turned back, "You need this." He held out a big, laminated clip-on badge that said 'Visitor' in bold, red letters. With a sardonic crook in his lips, The Doctor took the badge and clipped it to his jacket. "Might want to take the stairs, as well. We've a back-up generator, but…" Nurse Oscar's gaze drifted to the tumult outside.

"Right," The Doctor agreed, "Good idea. Thanks for your help, mate."

"'S my job," he shrugged, "But… I hope you find your friend." He met The Doctor's eyes with genuine sympathy and concern. The Doctor knew, then, there was someone, or many someone's, on the nurse's mind.  
"Me too," he nodded, and headed for the stairwell.

* * *

Martha typed with wicked speed as Rose looked on over her shoulder. They'd found the assistant budget officer's office empty and were now hovering in front of the harsh glow of the computer screen in the dim office. Being a resident, Martha had warned Rose they might not be able to access the system. The administrative branch of the hospital used its own secure database, and Martha didn't have access. Fortunately, the budget officer's password had been 'password.' Immediately upon that discovery, Rose swore she could hear The Doctor's mocking laugh and a mutter of 'stupid apes' in her head.

They'd sifted through the records of all the recent hires, anyone within the past month. There were perhaps a dozen new employees in that time, but none in positions of authority or boasting unusually impressive resumes, just a collection of nurses, techs, janitors and cafeteria workers. Rose suggested looking into hospital administrators and any physicians sitting on review boards. Martha had complied, with perhaps a touch of mischievous curiosity, but they found nothing either of them considered noteworthy. Somewhat deflated, Rose sighed and turned to look out the window.

"What about utilities? She's in budgeting, can you access that?" Rose asked, a deep and sudden feeling of dread settling in her heart as she watched the morbid dance unfold, "If something here is generating this storm, it would need a hell of a lot of energy."

"Hang on," Martha said, and Rose realized, then, that the other woman was still typing. Turning around, she leaned over Martha's shoulder once more.

"What's that?" Rose asked. Martha was navigating a different program altogether.

"Patient records," Martha said, "Guess what her password was." There was a distinct note of derisive glee in her voice and Rose just shook her head.

"What you lookin' for, here?"

"The same, anything unusual in any of the recent admissions, and I think I've found something a bit – odd."

"Odd? Odd is good," Rose smiled, looking more intently at the screen, "How odd?"

"Very," Martha smiled back. She was enjoying this more than she would have anticipated, "We have a patient under police protection in the ICU."

"Well, that's rare, but it happens, don't it? When a suspect is injured they have to keep them in custody while they're treated, yeah?"

"Yes, but the patient is a ten-year-old girl." Martha was getting more anxious by the minute, but Rose was reluctant to jump to conclusions.

"Maybe a witness?" Rose asked.

"She was admitted by an anonymous citizen as a Jane Doe."

"I didn't know you could anonymously admit someone without just droppin' 'em on the front step."

"Well, he signed off as 'Elvis Presley,'" Martha explained with a sideways smile and raised eyebrow.

"Right," Rose acknowledged, then she began to understand the implication Martha was angling toward, "These are internal records."

"Exactly," Martha beamed, "If the police were protecting a witness, the public records and media releases would designate her as Jane Doe. We'd still have her name in our secure system. Medical history, allergies, they'd provide _all_ that if it were available."

"So, why place an unknown girl under police protection?"

"Why indeed?" Martha quickly swung her chair about.

"Shall we, Doctor Jones?" Rose motioned toward the door.

"Not a Doctor, yet," Martha reminded, standing.

"Close enough."

* * *

The Doctor did indeed stop by the second floor visitor lobby, but only long enough to find a phone. The cheap sofas and plastic chairs were packed with people who weren't injured but had sought shelter at the beginning of the storm. As he walked up to the lone payphone, a young man in a business suit informed him the phones were out. Ignoring him, The Doctor picked up the receiver and withdrew his Sonic, pressing it to the keypad until it registered payment made and connected him. He got a dead tone, of course, but he'd been spot on. The underlying signal was crystal clear. The source was somewhere in this building.

Rushing out of the room, The Doctor headed back to the stairwell. Each floor should have its own phone circuit, but the master circuit would be in the basement. From there, he should be able to trace which floor all the capacity in the landline system was being diverted to. He was getting close, the thrill of it all washing over him. Taking the steps two at a time, he had a broad smile on his face, and he instinctively glanced to his left before remembering Rose wasn't beside him. Less than a week on and he'd grown accustomed to her energy, her enthusiasm, her keen questioning, and her smart-ass comments. His smile melted away.

Reaching the lowest floor the stairs would allow, The Doctor pushed through the fire door into a long, bare-bones corridor. It stretched on in both directions, but above him he saw exposed pipes and tubes. He pointed the Sonic Screwdriver upward, flipping through settings until it detected which direction the current was flowing from. The Doctor sprinted to the left, searching the labels on the doors as he went. When he finally found the one for the phone circuit, he tested the door and found it locked. Luckily, it wasn't dead-bolted, and after a few seconds with the sonic, the lock clicked open and The Doctor pushed his way in.

"Bloody hell!" a voice exclaimed, and The Doctor paused in the doorway as two gents in scrubs launched away from each other, "Again?!"

"Sorry, lads, didn't mean to interrupt," The Doctor smiled, "Jus' need to have a look at the circuits." The room was silent a moment, though he failed to note the general awkwardness.

"You're – you're not going to tell anyone?" one of them finally spoke.

"Don't be daft," The Doctor dismissed, examining the miles of neatly bundled wires and less neatly labeled connections, "I don't even work here."

"Who are you, then?" the other inquired, slightly offended, "What are you doing down here?"

"Savin' the world," The Doctor threw out, breezily. Then, he looked over to where the two nurses stood. The tall one with the sandy blonde hair looked abashed and a bit frustrated, while the shorter one with dark roots and spiked, platinum tips just looked suspicious. More importantly, behind the pair, The Doctor caught a glimpse of a contraption that appeared rather out of place, "Wha's that?"

"What's what?" the taller lad asked, both nurses turning to see what The Doctor was looking at. The Doctor stepped forward, not responding, and set his Screwdriver to a complicated, claw-like contraption wired into a large section of circuits. Looking up, he saw that the bank was labeled 'E4."

"What's in the east wing of the fourth floor?" The Doctor asked.

"Intensive Care," the shorter nurse answered, "What's goin' on?"

"Anything strange there, lately?"

"We've got a patient under guard, there," The taller lad offered, "They have her in a medically induced coma."

"That's it!" The Doctor exclaimed, jumping back and darting his wild grin between the two nurses, "They've got someone, someone powerful, under sedation and they're routing all the resources in the phone system to direct them, make them catalyze this storm."

"What?" the short one asked.

"What are your names?" The Doctor ignored. He suspected he might need their help. Clever as he was, he didn't trust himself to bring someone safely out of a medically induced coma.

"Jeff," the taller blurted out.

"Rob," the shorter supplied, suspicious.

"Well, lads, I need your help," he put a hand on their shoulders.

"What for?" Rob asked.

"Save the world," The Doctor said, as if the answer were self-evident, "Whatcha say?"

"Absolutely," Jeff grinned.

"Are you mad?!" Rob wondered.

"A bit, yeah," The Doctor admitted before turning toward the door, "Come on if you're comin'. Oh," a thought occurred to him as he opened the door and he turned back, "Have you seen a woman wanderin' about? Dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, khakis and purple shirt?" The two looked at one another before looking back at The Doctor.

"Sort of sounds like the one who caught us in the supply closet, earlier," Jeff offered, "Only she was wearin' a lab coat. Assumed she was a doctor." Relief washed over The Doctor, along with a pure, manic joy he didn't bother to examine. Of _course_ she'd have stolen a lab coat and gone snooping about.

"Fantastic!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** My apologies for the late posting, had a busy day today, but here it is! Hop you enjoy! I'm still a bit iffy on my action scenes, so any feedback, tips, or criticisms would be very much appreciated. As usual, I do not own Doctor Who.

**Royslady51:** Men – can't live with 'em, and there's no sense killin' 'em until you get your hands on a bone saw and a bucket of lye. **Kazster: **Even I'm fascinated to see how The Doctor will react to finding out about Rose's feeling for "her" Doctor. I mean I kinda know, it's just, sometimes once you actually get to those pivotal moments, a character just goes and does something that surprises you. **TK:** hahaha, like I said last time, poker is a stupid, stupid game. And with saving Martha's life making Rose more trustworthy, I couldn't help but think of "He saved my life. Bloke-wise, that's up there with flossin'." And The Doctor is a bit hopeless when it comes to Rose. Speaking of, hope you enjoy this chapter, and the reunion! :D **Vaylyn:** Thank you so much! Despite this being an AU/AR, I really didn't want to deviate from the original characters, and it's easy to fall short of The Doctor. **Mauve Guest:** I certainly hope this reunion scene lives up to expectations! :D

* * *

When the lift reached the fourth floor and the doors opened, Rose and Martha were both surprised to find two police officers standing on either sides of the doors. Past those two, another officer could be seen patrolling the corridor with a German Shepherd on lead. The nurse's station was noticeably vacant. Thinking quickly, Martha reached out and pressed the elevator button, apologizing for having hit the wrong floor, and the two women smiled amiably as the two surly-looking bobbies eyed them through the closing doors. Once shut and on their way down to the third floor, they both looked at one another.

"Well, that was promising," Rose smiled.

"You're mad. You know that, right?" Martha's admonition was belied by her own manic grin.

"How much you wanna bet the stairwell door's under guard, as well?" Rose asked, watching the doors as the lift stopped on the third floor and walking out as soon as they opened.

"I don't," Martha assured, following quickly on Rose's heels, "But I think we have to check, anyway.

"Right," Rose agreed, looking around for the stair access door and, spotting it, making a beeline in its direction, "We'll just pretend we're on our way to an upper floor. Act natural." She blew through the fire door, then paused before the stairs, "Dammit."

"What?" Martha asked. She was fairly humming with energy, 36-hour shift forgotten. In response, Rose pulled back the lab coat and showed her the black knee brace, conspicuous against the pale khaki trousers. "How'd you manage that?"

"I may have fallen on it earlier. When I was – rescuing you," Rose hesitated to use that word, she hardly felt the hero and certainly didn't like thinking about how close Martha Jones had come to an untimely end. Still, there it was.

"You should have gotten that treated the minute you came in," Martha scolded gently, crossing her arms, "No telling how much damage you're doin'."

"I know, I know, but The Doctor can do a much better job patchin' it."

"The Doctor? This hospital's full of doctors!"

"He's not that kind of doctor," Rose cringed a bit, trying to explain, "Well, not only."

"Right, so you trust this 'not-quite-doctor' better than highly trained and educated medical professionals.

"I'm just sayin' after I broke my hand a week ago…"

"Broke your hand? What do you _do_ for a living?"

"Uh, well…" Rose debated how far to push this. She'd have to tell Martha eventually, but thought it better to wait until something sufficiently bizarre happened to make the rest of it less barmy by comparison, "I'm a field agent. For Torchwood."

"Of course," Martha smiled, "I get to deal with my gossipy siblings, my bickering parents, my dad's bimbo girlfriend, and now I'm caught up with some secret agent from a clandestine government agency trying to sneak past the metro police and stop London from being torn apart in a giant – land hurricane. That's, that's brilliant, that is."

"Sorry," Rose shrugged, meaning it. Martha shook her head, but she was still smiling.

"So, who is this doctor, anyway?"

"Oh, he's an alien who travels time and space in a blue police box," Rose explained, simply, before turning to begin her laborious hobble up the stairs.

"You're kiddin' right?" Martha chuckled. Rose just continued up the stairs.

"Come on, then. World's not gonna save itself."

"You _are_ kidding, aren't you?"

* * *

"So, who are you, then?" Rob asked as the three loaded up on the elevator.

"I'm The Doctor," he responded, hitting the button for the fourth floor.

"Which doctor?" Rob pressed.

"No, The Doctor. Just 'The Doctor.' And not the kind ya think."

"Ph.D.?" Jeff asked.

"Also, yes." The Doctor gave a quick smile, before turning his attention back to the digital display counting off the floor numbers. Without warning, Rob reached out and slammed the emergency stop button. "Whadja do that for?" The Doctor looked at him, bemused.

"This – this is madness!" The shorter man burst out, "Complete madness! We could get sacked, get arrested, even, and you won't even tell us who you are."

"I told you," his voice raised a bit in defense, "I'm The Doctor."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?!"

"Rob, just calm down," Jeff put a hand on Rob's shoulder, but the latter brushed him off.

"Don't tell me to calm down!"

"I'm really sorry," Jeff addressed The Doctor, "He's not usually so wound up."

"And don't apologize for me! It's him should be apologizin'!" Rob gestured toward The Doctor who was leaning against the back of the lift car, arms crossed, regarding the whole mess with thinly disguised impatience.

"For what, then? Savin' the world?" The Doctor asked, tone rich with sarcasm.

"You're – you're mental! What _you_ gonna do, huh? It's a storm, just a freak storm!"

"How would you know? Spent the afternoon snoggin' in a utility cupboard."

"Actually, it started in the supply cupboard," Jeff offered. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"Whichever. Point is, that's no anomaly. It's a telekinetically generated cyclonic supercell that'll destroy the whole of London if we don't stop it. That's why we need to get to the fourth floor, now, if you don't mind."

"Who's we, then? Cause I'm not signin' up for your heroic delusions," Rob looked over at Jeff expectantly. When Jeff hesitated to agree with him, Rob shook his head and turned to depress the elevator stop button. As the lift car began moving again, he pressed the button for the third floor, refusing to look at either of the lift's other occupants. When the chime sounded and the doors opened he stepped out in a huff, only turning his head a second to look at Jeff, his expression wounded and angry, before storming off. When the doors didn't immediately close, Jeff pressed the fourth floor button again.

"Sorry," The Doctor offered as the lift jerked into motion once more.

"'S all right," Jeff smiled, "I'd rather save the world. Besides, he was a rubbish kisser." The Doctor couldn't help but smile, at that.

* * *

As it turned out, the stairway door was indeed under guard, but fortunately from the other side. Rose and Martha took turns peeking through the tall, thin window in the fire door before crouching down to formulate some manner of plan. Despite her knee, Rose insisted it was better she draw the police away, seeing as how she had no medical expertise whatsoever. Martha, despite her general misgivings about Rose's mental state, didn't want the mad blonde getting eaten by a German Shepherd. When Rose gave her a wide, manic grin, she knew the debate was over.

"'S all right. I'm good with dogs." Without warning, Rose stood up, swung open the fire door and waltzed into the corridor while Martha looked on in shock. The police seemed just as surprised, as they made no immediate move to intercept her. Then, without preamble, Rose took off at a hobbled run, and the commotion started. The guards left their position by the door, sending up a hue and cry to alert the entire ward of an unauthorized presence. As soon as the coast was clear, Martha slipped through the door, hunched low as she ran along the corridor in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile, Rose was leading the officers on a merry chase through the halls, picking up extra pursuers as she went. She was grinning maniacally at the fact that she managed to outstrip her pursuers on a bum leg, but when she rounded a corner and saw the K-9 unit at the far end of the hall, she stopped short. The officer shouted and leaned over to unlatch the harness, and the German Shephard sprinted forward. It was then, cops catching up from behind and a police dog bearing down ahead, that Rose darted left toward an open door, hopped up, grabbed the door jam and swung her legs up, kicking aside a tile in the drop ceiling and launching herself up into the dark, dusty utility access.

Quickly, Rose rolled to one side as the bobbies converged below, shouting directives to one another to get a ladder, and to her to cease and desist. Instead, she belly-crawled on her elbows and one good knee through the jumble of pipes and wires until she reached the air duct. Crawling along its length, she finally came to a slide-out access panel where the filters were changed. After pausing for a hefty sneeze, she removed the panel and filter, chucked them to the side, and pulled herself, laboriously, into the cramped air shaft. She could hear the distant shouts of the officers behind her, and she began moving, quickly as she could, in the other direction, toward the east wing.

* * *

The lift doors opened onto a scene of chaos. A handful of policemen were running in the opposite direction, shouting and making a general scene of everything. One officer remained by the door, spinning around to face them. The Doctor greeted him with a cheerful 'Hello' before stepping forward, grabbing his collar, and swinging him forcefully into the lift. Jeff darted out, the bobby sprawling onto the floor at the back of the car, while The Doctor quickly shorted the lift controls with his Sonic. He slipped out just as the doors were closing and the officer gained his feet and lunged forward.

"Well, that's 'im then. Shall we see what's all the ruckus?" The Doctor grinned. He knew exactly what the ruckus was.

"Right!" Jeff laughed, fully caught up in the excitement, "ICU's this way." The pair sprinted off to their right, following the long, sterile corridor into the east wing. After rounding a corner, they spotted, up ahead, Martha Jones arguing with a guard outside one of the secure ICU rooms. As The Doctor approached with Jeff on his heels, he pulled a leather billfold from his pocket. The guard turned to them as they neared, holding his hands up to signal them to stop.

"Whoa, whoa. This is a secure area," he declared. The Doctor flashed his psychic paper.

"Detective Inspector John Smith. Myself, Doctor Jones, and nurse… I'm sorry, what's your last name?" The Doctor turned to Jeff.

"Yarrow," he supplied.

"Right, Nurse Yarrow. I'm under orders from the MPS Commissioner to have the patient examined. Unlock the door." The policeman looked The Doctor up and down, clearly skeptical.

"You don't look like a copper."

"Well, I'd hardly get any detectin' done if I did, now would I?" The Doctor beamed.

"Sorry, but no one told us you were comin'. I'm gonna have to call this in."

"Jus' so," The Doctor shrugged, but as soon as the officer turned his back and reached for his radio, The Doctor's cheerful façade dropped and he grabbed the other man in a headlock. "Grab 'is keys!" he shouted to Jeff, who jerked to attention and did as he was bid, unclipping the ring of keys from the bobby's belt and rushing to the door of the ICU quarantine unit. The Doctor held fast to the flailing policeman while Jeff unlocked the door and Martha looked at him like – well, like he was an alien.

"Got it!" Jeff proclaimed, shaking The Doctor's attention back to him.

"Good lad!" he commended, somersaulting the officer onto his back and darting inside the room. Martha had frozen a moment, but The Doctor turned and held out his hand, "Come on, then!" She took it and rushed into the room beside him. The Doctor shut the door and pulled out his Sonic securing it. Inside, Martha and Jeff were both staring at the little girl on the bed in wonder. She was perhaps ten years old with pale skin and dark black hair. The noteworthy part, however, was the contraption fitted over her head. Dozens upon dozens of wires fed into a tight-fitting skull cap that luminesced in waves of green, red, and indigo.

The Doctor approached the bed with a solemn expression, his Sonic still in hand. He was studying her carefully, taking in the cap and the wires along with the IV and feeding tube keeping her hydrated and supplied with nutrients. It all looked so inhumane, almost grisly, and she was so very young. He swallowed back a lump in his throat and began scanning her with the Sonic Screwdriver as Jeff and Martha looked on. He paid special attention to the skull cap, running over it with three or four different settings before straightening up and pocketing the device.

"I know you," was the first thing Martha managed to choke out. It caught The Doctor's attention. He considered her closely, knowing exactly what date it was.

"Nope, don't believe so," he grinned, turning his attention back to the girl, "We have to wake her up."

"No, really," Martha insisted, walking around the end of the bed and looking up at him, "Night before last, as I was walking to the hospital for my shift. You were walking the opposite direction, and you said – you said, 'ta-da' and just walked off. Thought you were mental."

"You're not the first," The Doctor shrugged his broad shoulders under the leather jacket, "But right now…" The Doctor was interrupted by an almighty clatter. They all instinctively turned to the door, but saw the grating from the air vent fall out of the ceiling. The Doctor was just about to tug Martha back behind him when he saw two run-down pink Converse peek down out of the ceiling, and his hearts lept.

"Rose!" smiling like a maniac, he rushed forward to stand under the vent. The shoes were followed quickly by legs and torso, all coated in dust, as she lowered herself down until she was hanging from the lip of the drop ceiling. The Doctor put his hands up, grabbing her waist, "I've got ya." Rose let go and immediately placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as he swung her about once, letting out a whoop of a laugh, before gently setting her on the floor.

"Doctor!" she pulled him into a hug on instinct, laughing at the joy and ludicrousness of the situation. When she pulled back, he took a moment to look her over, face smudged with dirt, clothes and stolen lab coat in much the same state, and grinning like a nutter. He couldn't stop smiling, himself.

"Rose Tyler, you do know how to make an entrance."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **I do not own Doctor Who. Or a bread maker. Those two things are not related.

**Royslady51:** Not sure why that made me think of this, but "…Patrick Moore" "Apart from him!" **Ninthsgirl: **Thank you! I'm always so happy to hear I'm staying on track. **Mauve Guest:** Really, I just couldn't have the reunion be all bland and "normal." Rose only travels in style: TARDIS, barrage balloon, and air duct. **Dreamcatcher49:** As Rose so adeptly pointed out: aliens. It's always freakin' aliens. **TK:** I know, I'm trying really hard to capture a post Torchwood Rose. I mean, she was already getting bolder and crazier by the time she left her universe, then she goes all globe-hopping secret agent. But I still want her to be _her_, and I'm trusting you all to keep me in line, there. I'm not saying I don't particularly like River _*cough*Idon'tparticularlylikeRiver*cough*_, I just don't want Rose turning into her. Also, I'm sure that's why he has a second heart: a spare. :D

* * *

"So, what've I missed?" Rose asked. Looking around the room. She and The Doctor stood in front of the door, beyond which she could hear the shouts of the police officers. Martha was standing on the opposite side of the hospital gurney, alongside a rather familiar-looking nurse, "Hey, I know you."

"Jeff," the nurse smiled, "Nice to see you, again."

"Right. Likewise," Rose chuckled, then turned back to The Doctor who was still grinning broadly, "How'd you get here?"

"Followed the signal," he said, hands tucked in his pockets.

"What signal?" Rose asked.

"The telephone," he explained, passing by her to stand at the child's bedside, "The landlines are out, but the line wasn't broken. There was a signal underneath the dead tone, the static. Don't know what it's sayin', exactly, but I've an idea. The signal got stronger, louder as I went and it was clearest here."

"Who is she?" Rose asked, now looking at the young girl. Most of the equipment she was hooked up to looked familiar. Rose had been injured often enough to have a passing familiarity with the EKG, IV drip, and blood pressure monitor, but the skullcap with its dancing, aurora-esque lights and the dozens of cords trailing off was something new altogether.

"She's a Jane Doe," Martha supplied, and Rose saw that she'd picked up the girl's chart and begun examining it, "Says she's suffered head trauma and they're keeping her in a medically induced coma."

"She's a Goane," The Doctor informed, grimly, "A being of immense telekinetic ability. Their race is all but extinct. Took shelter on Earth millennia ago, gave rise to the pagan notions of gods who controlled the elements."

"She's causing this, then? What happened to her?" Rose asked.

"Someone captured her. Captured her and sedated her and stuck her here. Otherwise, there's nothin' physically wrong with 'er."

"What's that cap for?" Martha asked, "Jeff and I, we can bring her out of the coma safely, but is that thing going to hurt her?"

"It's just a message," The Doctor shook his head and reached out, stroking a thumb gently over the child's temple. Rose started a bit when he jumped back as if bitten, "Fear. The message is fear. Hate and anger and aggression on a constant loop. Just words, transmitted through the phone line, but real enough for her. She's creating the storm subconsciously to defend herself. To make it stop."

"It's not just words." Rose reached out and squeezed The Doctor's elbow. He glanced back at her and saw the concerned crease on her brow. She was staring at the girl, suddenly horrified, "Look at her eyelids, her eyes are movin'. It's REM sleep. She's dreamin'. She can see all of it; whatever they're tellin' her, she can _see_ it." The Doctor looked back at the girl and saw, to his horror, that Rose was right. "Can you make it stop?"

"I will," The Doctor's tone brooked no disagreement, and Rose let go his arm as he withdrew the Sonic Screwdriver. "Martha, Jeff, do what needs doin'. I'm going to modify the signal, turn it down if I can. Her mind's panicking, and the drugs are the only thing keeping her heart rate regular. If we bring her out too quickly, the panic could kill her."

"Is there anything I can do?" Rose asked. Martha and Jeff busied themselves about the room, pulling out the crash cart and preparing the cocktails of drugs needed to bring her about.

"Here," The Doctor was hovering over the skullcap with the Sonic, "I can't shut down the signal, not from here. But I can disrupt the connection one wire at a time." Rose squeezed in between Himself and the EKG, "When you see the light go out, pull the wire." Just as he said that, the connection directly under the Sonic's glowing blue light went dark, and rose reached forward and pulled the cord from the cap with a satisfying snap.

"Easy enough," Rose said, examining the loose end of the wire and tossing it aside, "Next." One by one, The Doctor disrupted the signal feeding through one of the dozens of wires and Rose yanked it out. By the time Martha and Jeff approached, a third of the wires were gone.

"Can't you just, I don't know, yank that cap off her head?" Martha asked, watching them and waiting her turn to work.

"Don't know what would happen," The Doctor said, concentrating wholly on his task, "Might put her in shock. This way, the signal just gets quieter and quieter until it finally goes away."

"How do we know any of it is working?" Jeff asked, "This room doesn't have a window." As if in answer, they heard the building, from its foundation to the helipad above, groan under the stress of the wind. Martha, Jeff, and Rose all looked up, warily.

"Rose," The Doctor reminded, still at his work, "I need you."

"Right, sorry," Rose returned her attention to the task at hand, pulling another dead wire.

"It's bound to get worse before it gets better," The Doctor tried to reassure them all, "She's been bombarded with all the most terrible thoughts she could imagine, and now somethin's changin' and she's no way to know it's good; that we're here to help her. Not until she's awake." Thus, Rose and The Doctor continued, working in tandem, and Martha watched them carefully. They were so intense, so focused that they hardly noticed their heads were only an inch or two apart. She glanced down at the girl, eyes darting more furiously beneath her lowered lids than ever before. The building shook.

"Doctor…" Jeff warned.

"Almost there," The Doctor insisted.

* * *

"Sir, the intruders have locked themselves into the child's room. We can't get in; we're not sure why," the officer who'd stood guard at the little girl's door had largely recovered from being half-strangled by one of the intruders.

"Well, I imagine they locked it," a cool, calm voice radioed back.

"Except we have the master-key, sir, and it still won't open," the officer explained, and he thought he heard a brief chuckle in response over the radio crackle.

"Not to worry, Officer Charles. The storm is getting worse. You should evacuate your men."

"Sir?"

"That's an order, now. We'll need you when this is all over. I won't have good officers stranded in the hospital when the rest of the city needs help." Officer Charles chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. They'd been placed on emergency detail, here, twelve hours ago, and all of a sudden he was being told this assignment wasn't a high priority.

"What about the child, sir?" Officer Charles radioed back.

"Leave that to me," The Commissioner's tone had grown heavy and stern, "Retreat from that hospital. That's an order."

"Yes, sir." Officer Charles replied. He looked around at the half-dozen men who'd been assigned to the ward. After a brief pause, he gave the order to move out, and the men did as they were bid.

Some miles away, leaning back in his leather office chair and watching the storm batter the magnificent city, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner smiled a secret, enigmatic smile. Then, he turned back to his desk and pressed the intercom.

"Ms. Forsythe, I need the head of every public works department on the phone, immediately. Fire, police, corps of engineers, water, sanitation, all of them."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," came the tinny, echoing response of his secretary.

"Thank you, Ms. Forsythe," still smiling, he released the intercom button, "Today's a good day to be a hero."

* * *

"There!" The Doctor crowed as Rose pulled the last wire from the skullcap. All the brilliant, iridescent light was gone, and only a matte gray expanse of cloth and empty sockets remained. Carefully, he got his fingers under the edges of the cap and gently peeled it off her head.

"Is it our turn?" Martha asked.

"Yeah," The Doctor balled up the cap and stuffed it in his jacket pocket, "Jus' be careful." He reluctantly stepped away, taking Rose's hand as he went, and stood back, leaving Martha and Jeff to their work. They both watched in tense silence as Martha switched out IV bags and injected a small amount of the drug cocktail into the injection port. The next several minutes were spent checking her vitals and gradually adding more of the drug. When the heart monitor began to spike, Rose's grip tightened, and The Doctor squeezed back in response. There were no words, just then, for any of them. Martha was intent on her work, firing requests and directives at Jeff, words Rose didn't understand.

When the child began to murmur and twitch her hands, Rose broke away from The Doctor and came to her bedside. Taking up the small hand in both her own, Rose cooed reassurances to the girl. Immediately, the building was rocked by a massive gust. For a moment the lights flickered and the monitors beeped in alarm until the power came back up seconds later. Rose still hung on, staying out of Martha and Jeff's way as best she could, and brushing a hand over the girl's forehead as she did her best to calm a fevered mind.

"The power's been knocked out," Martha informed, "Running off the generator, now."

"How is she?"

"She's coming 'round. Need to get this feeding tube out before she chokes on it." The child convulsed slightly as the tube was pulled from her nostrils, and Rose gagged a bit.

"No idea that went through the nose."

"It's not pretty," Martha agreed, still busy at work. Finally, Rose thought she saw the child's eyelids flutter.

"There!" Rose said, gripping the small hand more firmly, "Come on, then. It's OK. You're safe. Just wake up for us, sweetheart." Martha and Jeff both paused to look, and The Doctor stepped up to Rose's side, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly as the drowsy brown eyes slowly opened. "Hi. Good morning," Rose gave her broadest smile.

"Keep talking to her, Rose," Martha had moved around her, examining the machines, "Her heart rate is normalizing and her blood pressure is coming down. Keep talking.

"We're so glad you're awake," Rose reached out and soothed the hair back over the little girl's brow, "How are you feeling?" The girl muttered a groggy, indiscernible response, and Rose just smiled and continued stroking her hair, "'S all right. Just relax. You'll be able to talk soon enough. You're awake, now, love. It's all over."

* * *

"I don't get it. What happened to the police?" Rose asked. She was sitting on the edge of the helipad, legs dangling over the empty street below as the sun began to disappear behind the looming skyscrapers of London's financial district. The sky was clear, the oblique light of early evening blinking off the snow and ice that buried all of London's streets. Across the way, nearly half the windows in a brick high-rise had been shattered or blown out completely.

"I don't know," The Doctor replied, squinting into the declining light, "They may have been called off to help elsewhere. They may have gotten scared and run off." He offered no other explanation, but Rose knew him well enough to know his thoughts didn't end there.

"Or," she prodded.

"Or, someone high up in the police department was behind all of this," he added, lips set in a grim line.

"What about the girl?" Rose asked, looking up at him, and The Doctor diverted his attention from the city skyline, looking at her with those sharp blue eyes.

"She'll be all right," he smiled, "Martha's not one to give up." Rose smiled at that.

"Some things never change." For awhile they sat in silence, basking in the light despite the chill. A stiff breeze picked up, and Rose shivered.

"We should go back in," The Doctor made to stand up.

"No," Rose said, "Not yet. I didn't –" The Doctor settled himself again, watching her profile closely as she struggled to explain, "I didn't know if I'd ever see this again." Rose admitted, "The city. Even if I survived."

"Fair enough," he admitted. She was dirty, disheveled, her hair half fallen out of the up-do, and he still hadn't asked what happened to her knee, but just at that moment, she was so very lovely. As the breeze kicked up again and she hunkered herself down against it, he huffed at the stubborn little yellow and pink human and took off his jacket. He held it up for her, "Come on, then. Arms." The look she gave him was more than a little surprised, but she complied, sliding her arms into the far-too-long sleeves and pulling it tightly around herself as he settled it on her shoulders.

"Thanks," she smiled, and his hearts skipped a beat.

"Jus' don't lose it," he said, "Love that jacket."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she countered, returning her gaze to the skyline.

"All I'm sayin' is, you're a hazard," his admonishment had the desired effect, as Rose whipped her head back around.

"Me?!"

"Yes, you," he continued with all feigned dignity, "Come clompin' in through the air ducts, covered in grease and dust, and what happened to that knee, anyway."

"Not my fault," Rose insisted.

"Really? Whose, then?"

"No one's. I slipped in the snow."

"Instead of stayin' put," he pointed out, "I looked for you. Would have found you if you hadn't gone wanderin' off."

"Yeah, well, if I hadn't wandered off, Martha wouldn't be here."

"What?" The Doctor asked, suddenly serious. Rose cringed slightly.

"Well…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** I do not own the characters/settings/plots from Doctor Who. Not even any of the extras. Last chapter for this little adventure! Episode IV will be posted on Friday!

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – King And Lionheart:_** Rose and The Doctor respond to a distress signal from the planet Barcelona in the year 6843. Once there, they discover the Judoon have sequestered the planet as they search for a group of intergalactic mercenaries.

**Mauve Guest:** Ha! Calm before the next storm. I see what you did, there. Anyway, let's just say The Commissioner will be making a reappearance… **solernp:** Thanks for dropping in! Glad you like the story.** Jeni27:** Well, she couldn't really avoid telling him, but he does have a knack for eliciting knee-jerk responses. :D **royslady51:** Yeah, but that particular pot has a habit of calling the kettle black. At least until he's called on it… 5 or 6 or 17 times. **TK:** Hahaha! I'm glad. I like the slightly more capable Rose, I just don't want to verge into "Look at me, I'm a doctor and now a professor, and oh, look, I can fly the TARDIS better than you, too." But I'm so glad I'm keeping some of the authenticity while mucking about with everything. Shall we call this Canon Lite? Canon 2.0? :D Also, like I told Mauve Guest, The Commissioner will be showing up again… Mwahahahahaha!

* * *

The walk back to the TARDIS had been difficult, both technically and emotionally. He'd insisted she tell him the whole story as they slogged over a solid foot of jagged, uneven ice and snow that coated the streets. He never said a word, and every time she'd glanced over, his expression had been stern and unreadable. When she finished, he didn't offer a single syllable in admonishment or understanding, and Rose didn't press him. Instead, she hugged his jacket more tightly around her and trudged onward. Finally, knee throbbing furiously under the strain of keeping her steady on the uneven terrain, they reached the TARDIS, surrounded in snow and ice, and The Doctor stooped to reach the lock that was now a foot lower than where he was standing.

Rose was somewhat heartened by the fact that, after climbing down into the TARDIS, he'd turned and helped her inside. Still, he didn't speak as he shut the door and marched over to the console. Rose reluctantly shrugged out of his jacket and laid it neatly over the jump seat before sitting down herself. As she watched him pilot the ship into the vortex, his face fixed in thought and his large hands moving nimbly over the controls, she had a sudden, sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She knew, then, he must be taking her home; back to her parents' mansion in 2019. She wasn't sure she could blame him, and if she could, she certainly couldn't stop him. Instead, she swallowed hard, determined not to leave with the same weight of regret she carried from her own universe.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice stronger than she could have hoped, "I knew better, and I followed her anyway, and – I'm sorry." He looked back at her, finally, but only for a moment as he finished settling his ship into her course. "And thank you. For everything, Doctor." With that, she slid off the jump seat, wincing as her knee protested her weight, and turned to head toward her room.

"Oi," The Doctor interjected, "Where you goin'?" He'd been deep in thought the last several minutes, almost lost in it, when the tone of finality in her voice caught his attention. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the console and watched as she turned around. Her gaze was warm and kind as always, but there was something more, a sadness that wasn't usually there.

"Getting my things," her smile was a bit shaky.

"What for?" he almost looked offended.

"Doctor," she took a step or two toward him, brow furrowed, "I did it again. I interfered, I saved someone, someone I knew, for personal reasons. There's no tellin' what could have happened. The Reapers could have come again. I could've –" Rose's breath caught as the memory of that old stone church, of The Doctor standing forward and the Reaper falling upon him, washed over her. _I could've lost you, again, _she wanted to say.

"Rose, Martha lived to meet you," The Doctor pointed out, uncrossing his arms and stepping forward, "I knew the minute I saw her in the hallway we'd have a mess to clean up. Didn't know how big a one, but I knew we'd have to tell her somethin'. Jus' a bit surprised is all."

"Then why are you being so, so – prickly?"

"Were ya ever goin' to tell me, Rose?" he asked, plainly.

"Of course I was," her nose wrinkled in offense at the suggestion.

"Really? Cause it seems there's a lot you don't."

"You would know," it was her turn to cross her arms. For a moment, The Doctor just studied her face. Finally, he closed his eyes and shook his head. When he looked up again, there was something resembling a smile teasing at his lips.

"We've both got our scars, us. I jus'… It's a strange situation, this, and if you can't tell me everything, I need to trust you'll tell me what I need to know."

"I will," Rose insisted, "I always will. Just didn't feel like bringin' it up immediately after savin' the world. Wanted to enjoy it a minute."

"I understand," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, "But we've still got to fix it." A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he checked his watch, "But we can talk about it over supper. Wash up, meet me in the kitchen." The doubtful look she shot him gave him pause. "What?"

"You cooked?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"_You?_"

"Is that a problem?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

* * *

"The way I see it, all we can do is go back and explain it to her. Let her know she's going to meet me again, but that I won't know her. That she can't tell me about all this." Rose was sitting at the modest little kitchen table, freshly showered and changed. She was eying The Doctor's back warily as he moved about the counters.

"And me," The Doctor chimed in, "She can't tell you about me." When he turned around holding two plates in his hand, Rose forced a smile. He set a plate down before her and took his seat across the table.

"I still can't believe you're taking it so well," Rose offered, stalling as she picked up her fork. It _looked_ good, and it smelled divine, but she was mistrustful, and The Doctor didn't miss the hesitant expression on her face.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Rose smiled brightly before muttering to herself, "TARDIS has an infirmary."

"Oi!"

"Sorry, it's just… The Doctor I knew couldn't boil water. 'Least I suspected as much, never saw him cook. We always got take-out."

"Yes, well, ask me to bake you anything, and you'll be on the phone to poison control inside five minutes. Meat and veg I can manage," he said defensively, "Take-out gets old after a while."

"Even with access to all the best restaurants in time and space?" she pointed out, tongue touching her canine.

"Stop stalling," he pointed a fork at her, and Rose gave in. Sighing, she cut into the slice of prime rib and, hesitating only slightly, popped the bite into her mouth. Within seconds, her eyebrows shot up.

"Tha's good," she managed just before swallowing, "Tha's really good."

"Try not to sound so shocked," he admonished, but all his feigned dignity was belied by that smug grin.

"Oh, stop gloating," Rose now tucked into her dinner with gusto. It had been a terribly long day, and the pair of them didn't utter a word beyond 'pass the salt' for the remainder of the meal. Two full plates and a dessert port later, Rose was leaning back in her chair, languid and perfectly content with the universe, when The Doctor finally spoke.

"It does bother me," he was leaning forward with his arms crossed, elbows resting on the table. It occurred to her, then, he still hadn't put his jacket back on. She didn't know why, exactly, that made her feel all warm and fuzzy, but it did.

"What?" Rose asked, eying the bottle of port. The Doctor rolled his eyes a second before picking up the bottle and pouring another tot into her glass, "Ah thank you."

"At your service, Lady Tyler," he mocked, and smiled as her nose crinkled up.

"Ugh, don't start that," she took a sip of the port, "What bothers you?"

"When you saved Martha," he started to explain, brow creasing in thought, "The timeline didn't change."

"Well, isn't that a good thing?" Rose pointed out.

"Yes and no. Thing is, _nothin' _changed. Even if the majority of it remained intact, small details should have shifted. Only, it didn't."

"OK," Rose said, sensible of his concern and tilting her chair upright, "What does that mean, then?"

"It means this already happened, Rose," those sharp grey eyes looked up at her from under his heavy brows, "You didn't alter the timeline, you preserved it, exactly as it was."

"So, what you're saying is I was living in a world where I'd already done this. Traveled here, with you, and saved Martha's life?"

"Exactly."

"Is that bad?" she asked, now leaning forward on the table, as well.

"I don't know. It's dancin' dangerously close to a paradox." He said, but he was fibbing just a bit. It was a paradox. Nothing in the universe should be able to create a paradox like that without dire consequences. Yet, here sat this human girl, two points in her timeline now inextricably dependent on each other. Her presence here, perhaps even her very existence, should be setting off all manner of alarms in his head. Only, it wasn't. He'd no idea what to make of it, and he didn't like not knowing.

"Right," she said, "Better be careful, then. Don't want to go tearin' down the walls of reality." She'd meant it as a joke, wanting to bring a bit of levity to the conversation, but as soon as she said it, she questioned it. Isn't that exactly what she'd been trying to do the first two years she was stranded here? The Doctor smiled, then, and her self-doubt dissipated for the moment.

"Come on, then. Let's have a look at that knee."

* * *

"Cracked the patella," The Doctor said as Rose sat on the examining table. He'd just finished scanning her injury, and settled the ice pack back on it.

"Ha! Called it."

"I'm sorry, who's the Doctor, here?"

"Just sayin'," Rose shrugged, grinning wide. The Doctor gave her a withering look, but she could see the smile he was holding back. What he hadn't told her, what he found so very curious, was the funny range of readings he got. He'd had the same problem when he scanned her broken hand a week earlier, but he'd written it off to interference from the titanium pins. Yet, here it was again, an odd sort of feedback clouding the readings. He still got the answers he needed, but it took longer to dial in than it should have.

"Right, lie back, it'll take a few hours to knit,"

* * *

Two days after the storm, Martha stood over the young girl, no longer cordoned off in the ICU, examining her chart and watching out of the corner of her eye as the child gently stroked the blue yarn hair of a cloth doll Martha had brought in from home. The Doctor, whoever he was, had been right, there was nothing wrong with her. No signs of head trauma as had been previously documented in her chart. The trouble was, they still didn't know who she was apart from the name 'Lara,' nor who her parents were. While the steady improvements in her health were encouraging, Martha dreaded the day they could no longer keep her here. The day child services would inevitably come for her.

"Hello!" came a cheerful and familiar voice from the door behind her, and Martha spun around to see the man who called himself The Doctor and, standing beside him, Rose.

"What are you two doin' here?" Martha asked, smiling, "Thought you'd run off."

"Well, we did, sort of," Rose explained, wanting so badly to hug her friend, but knowing better. Instead, she turned to the gurney, "And how are you, sweetheart?"

"Better," she said meekly, "I know you."

"I was here when you woke up," Rose smiled, "And we've got good news. We found your mum an' dad."

"Did you?" Martha asked, relieved beyond all measure, "Oh, thank you." Rose was pleasantly surprised when Martha swooped forward and gathered her in a hug. The resident composed herself quickly, however, and pulled back. "Sorry, 'bout that."

"'S no problem," Rose laughed, "They're downstairs, doin' all that bloody paperwork."

"But how'd you find them? The police and social services couldn't find anything."

"They didn't know where to look," The Doctor put in, supreme confidence and no small amount of self-satisfaction radiating off him, "There's only two or three Goane settlements in the whole of Britain. Didn't take long to find one missing a little girl."

"That's fantastic!" Martha laughed.

"Couldn't have said it better, myself," The Doctor beamed, and Rose elbowed him in the gut, earning a mock grunt of pain.

"So, that's it, then. You two just save the day and disappear?"

"More or less," The Doctor said, slightly more somber.

"We need to have a word, if that's all right?" Rose started.

"Oh, God. You're gonna wipe my memory, then, aren't you?"

"No," Rose laughed, "Nothing like that. We just have a bit of a favor to ask."

* * *

"Why are we in the basement?" Martha asked as she reluctantly followed the pair down a barren corridor.

"Least conspicuous place to land," The Doctor explained, walking ahead with brisk purpose.

"Land?" Martha asked, incredulously.

"You know how I said he was an alien who traveled all of time and space in a police box?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, it just _looks_ like a police box." Rose explained as The Doctor stopped in front of a fire door and opened it wide. Catching up, Martha looked inside at what appeared to be the boiler room, and standing amidst the all the pipes and gauges and massive boilers was a rather humble-looking blue phone box.

"How'd you get that in here?"

"It just sort of – materializes." Rose tried to explain, "It's called a TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space." The Doctor had already gone inside and started unlocking the door while Rose stood at the hallway entrance with Martha.

"So it's a… a…"

"Space ship that travels in time," Rose finished, smiling, "Or, a time machine that travels in space. We keep arguing about that."

"That's impossible," Martha breathed, stepping into the room as The Doctor opened the TARDIS door and she could see just enough to know it appeared much bigger on the inside.

"Ten minutes ago you thought we could wipe your memory," Rose joked.

"Actually," the Doctor cringed a bit, "I could." When Martha shot him a concerned look, he continued, "But I wouldn't. You're clever, Martha. You can handle this."

"Handle what?" Martha asked.

"When I pulled you into the hospital room, you said you'd seen me before, and that I said something to you. What was it…"

"Ta-da," Martha supplied, using the same sardonic inflection she recalled him using.

"That's horrible. I'd never say that. Why would I say that?"

"How should I know?"

"Right! Because I've never said it before. I don't remember us meeting because it hasn't happened, yet."

"Come again," Martha was skeptical, now, arms crossed over her chest.

"When and where did you see me, Martha."

"I dunno, I was on my way to the hospital. I'd just stepped out of the chip shop on Market Street."

"Right, but when?"

"I dunno, about 5:00 Tuesday evening."

"'About'? Humans," The Doctor scoffed and headed inside the TARDIS, "Have me standin' around a street corner for an hour."

"What?" Martha called in after him."

"Back in a mo'!" he grinned at the pair and shut the door. Martha stepped away, taken aback.

"Bit rude isn't he?"

"Only when you get to know 'im." Rose smiled. Just then, the light atop the TARDIS began to pulse and a scratchy whirring sound filled the room. Martha stood, mouth agape as the blue box began to fade.

"What…"

"Just watch," Rose smiled.

* * *

"Well, she took that better than I expected," Rose plopped herself down in the jump seat as The Doctor piloted the ship back into Vortex.

"She's a clever one, your Martha," The Doctor assured, hopping around the opposite side of the console.

"Yeah, she is that," Rose agreed, a wistful smile on her face. The Doctor didn't miss the tone and he peeked around the time rotor to see her, feet propped up against the cracked porcelain frame, clearly lost in thought. He rolled his eyes and stood back up, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could be. He knew it was coming, though, knew he wouldn't be able to stop her. "Doctor," she said after a few minutes, and he sighed to himself.

"Present," he chirped, cheekily, praying this wasn't heading toward the "D" word.

"Have you ever felt just – wrong?" Rose struggled to find the word, deciding only that simple word, though woefully inadequate, would do. The Doctor came around the console, finishing his machinations and diverting his attention to the monitor.

"I'm wrong all the time," he smiled, "Jus' don't tell anyone I said that."

"No I mean… _you_. Like, who you were just wrong or broken." The Doctor stopped short at that. Something was blinking angrily on the TARDIS monitor, but it could wait.

"Who told you anythin' was wrong with you?" he asked, arms crossed and face indignant.

"No one, really," Rose shook her head, trying to play it off under an uncertain smile, "And everyone. I was married, you know?" She glanced up at him, seeing the searching look on his face but unable to see the way his twin hearts sped up. When he didn't respond, she continued, "Tom. I was married to Tom until a couple years ago. Aaaand then he married my best friend. Well, best friend besides Mickey" The Doctor would have scoffed at the mention of Mickey's name, but he was occupied with the unbidden fear and the panic that had hit him at her revelation. Never mind refraining from asking who the hell Tom was until she mentioned him marrying her best friend.

"How's that make you wrong?"

"You've clearly never been divorced," Rose tried to joke, "No one lets you forget it. I was reminded constantly how I'd failed. How I couldn't just be happy with the things that were supposed to make me happy. And what made it worse was I tried. Everyone thinks I didn't, but I did. I really did."

"Then you've nothin' to be ashamed of." Why did it always have to get messy? Why did everything with these stupid apes have to be so complicated?

"I was just foolish, and a bit selfish. I thought things could stay the way they were, forever. Travelin' the world together and protectin' people and savin' stranded aliens from mobs of idiots. And when he wanted to slow down, to settle and have a home, I tried. And it drove me mad. Absolutely mental."

"Rose," The Doctor moved closer, leaning back against the console near where he feet rested, "That doesn't make you – _wrong_." He said the last word like it was in epithet, stressing the final 'g' like he sometimes did. He was unaccountably angry, and he hoped she realized it wasn't at her.

"No," she smiled, "I know that, now. Took me a good long time, but I know that. It's just, seeing Martha again… I miss her. I realize she and Tom were much better suited. She was able to slow down, to have something normal, where I wasn't. But I still miss her, and I envy her a little. No matter how at peace I may be with myself, the world will never stop tellin' me how wrong I am."

"Do you think I don't know all that? Look at me. I stole a time machine and left my planet behind to run off and explore the stars."

"Yeah, but isn't that sort of just what your people did?" Rose asked, and they both ignored her automatic use of the past tense.

"Ah, well, see, they could. And some did, but there were always a lot of very strict rules about it. Rules I frequently ignored. I've been hauled up on charges before. Banished to Earth for a while because of my meddling."

"You're kidding," Rose couldn't help a grin pulling at her lips. "You? Stuck on Earth?"

"They disabled the TARDIS and everything," he nodded.

"Can't even imagine," she shook her head.

"Well, don't," he said, standing upright and reaching out to take her hand and pull her off the jump seat toward the monitor, "'Cause we're not stopping, Rose Tyler. Distress signal from… Barcelona!"

"What?"

* * *

**Footnote:**

"And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me, yeah

Shake it out, shake it out,

Shake it out, shake it out,

Shake it out, shake it out,

Shake it out, shake it out,

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back,

So shake him off"

-Florence + The Machine: Shake It Out


End file.
